


i love you dancing to fats domino: blueberry hill

by honeyteeth



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Blood and Gore, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Repression, Sickfic, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Vomiting, had to edit the tags bc. well. fucking guess, homoerotic thoughts.. all the time..., kinda? i mean, lots of blood in the first chapter it's gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 83,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyteeth/pseuds/honeyteeth
Summary: Lupin, as it turns out, isn't the type of man to let anybody die, not even his "destined rival," (or so Zenigata had called them so many times before in his own head).It's strange, almost surreal, to be taken care of by one's enemy-- but there's a warmth to it that the poor inspector just can't shake.[title oh so lovingly taken from the lyrics of "iloveuimcrazyimsorry" by Field Medic]
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Zenigata Kouichi, Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Jigen Daisuke
Comments: 212
Kudos: 245





	1. taking the bullet

And so, this is it _.  _

The pungent smell of copper, the hot slick of blood slipping between his fingertips. Vision fading, mouth slurring words he didn’t even know were real or not, ears ringing, heart pounding, breath ragged.

Zenigata knows that he's on the cusp of death. 

Is he afraid? 

...Not really. 

Of course, he’d rather it not end like this-- he always pictured himself going out with a bang ( _ not  _ this type of bang, mind you), heroic and proud, smiling through gentle last words as a couple of cute girls wept over his ending. Maybe even Lupin would cry, hands bound with Zenigata’s own pair of handcuffs as, willingly and clad in stripes, he sat in a jail cell with his two other pals, sobbing and weeping over how he wished he had been chased  _ one more time.  _

But Zenigata never expected such an awful, pitiful demise to befall him. 

And yet here he was. Lying against the cold concrete of a long-forgotten alley, the stench of piss and booze and sex and blood (his own, of course) stinging his nostrils, hand pressed into his side in a feeble attempt to at least prolong his lifespan for a few more moments. 

He had failed. He hadn’t caught Lupin and he hadn’t saved the little golden statuette the thief had promised to swipe. The one thing he  _ did  _ succeed at, however, was taking a damn bullet for that little bastard. That’s right. There’s the kicker, Zenigata thought bitterly. There’s the damn cherry on top. 

It had been a blur, really. There was a lot of running back and forth, a lot of lunging and grappling with thin air as Lupin just barely managed to slip from his grasp, truly a master of escape. However, ironically, tonight he  _ wasn’t _ . Tonight, he jumped right out of Zenigata’s arms and directly into a trap: a little room with backup from several of the servants of the house pointing several barrels of several guns right at the little monkey. 

And they all yelled at him at once, many overlapping shouts of “take one more goddamned step and I shoot, Lupin!” and so on and so forth. And of course, with Lupin being the person that he was, he took one more goddamned step and one of them shot. And then another. As they promised. 

Zenigata, not knowing what the  _ fuck _ he was thinking, shoved Lupin out of the way, yelling something about not wanting to  _ hurt  _ the guy, just to  _ capture  _ him! 

This was, as it turned out, not the smartest thing to do at that moment. Because he was shot. Only once, thank God-- these guys had  _ terrible  _ aim-- but shot nonetheless. 

The worst part was that those bastards didn’t even acknowledge him! Instead, as he was falling to the floor with a gasp, hurried sets of footsteps scurried to get Lupin, who had yelled out Zenigata’s name (not Pops, not old man, no silly nickname whatsoever) before scampering away in a flurry of panic. 

Being shot in the side isn’t fun. In fact, it was the most searing pain Zenigata had ever felt in his entire life. It ripped through his body like a shockwave, and he barely had time to process the fact that it had even happened when the blood started pooling around his body. But he was stupid and he was stubborn and he was determined and this little incident wasn’t going to stop him. He was going to get Lupin, arrest him, and deal with the wound later. 

He dragged himself like a dog with a broken leg to the door, out of that little room, and into the hall. Blood spattered on the floor around him, and he was a little embarrassed to know he was ruining such fine carpet. But he kept walking. All the way to the entryway, all the way past the threshold and out of the door, following the shouts and gunshots and the sound of Lupin’s voice to an alleyway. As he closed in on what he thought to be the thief, trapped like a rat, he realized that there was a lot of dialogue repeated. The same shout, the same witty quip from Jigen, the same gunshot pattern. And then…

Realization dawned on Zenigata, who had never hated himself more.

Because of course, Lupin would leave a recording to doop him. The servents had already figured that out and were now looking for him. Because of course, they had. And Lupin, obviously, was nowhere around. Because of course, he wasn’t. 

And all of that hot mess lead Zenigata to where he was right now. Pitiful and bleeding and weak, crying, head slumped against his shoulder. A light breeze ruffled his trenchcoat and made him shiver, an unwelcome chill running up and down the length of his aching spine and sending gooseflesh to rise on his arms. Cold and alone and bleeding out on the pavement. Was that his fate? Just like that, it was over? How unfair. 

Absently, he wondered if the funeral would be big. Although his daughter had long forgotten about him, and his ex-wife hated his very guts, he wondered if they would be there all the same. He even wondered if Lupin would show up, which was a strange thought, considering how he should probably  _ despise  _ that little crook. 

But he didn’t. 

He wasn’t mad at Lupin for running away after Zenigata had been shot, and he didn’t blame him either. He didn’t regret a single damn thing he had done tonight, which he was so very angry at himself for. 

He hated that he wasn’t mad. He hated that he wasn’t even bitter. He hated that he was glad Lupin got out alive, hated that he hoped whatever new guy they assigned to the case would never even get a chance to capture the thief, hated that, in all honesty, he didn’t hate Lupin. Not at all. He never had. 

Sure, there were moments where he wanted to wring that bastard’s scrawny little neck or give him one or two black eyes, but it was  _ never  _ more than simply being pissed off that he was going against the law and he was so fucking good at running away. 

And so, Koichi Zenigata, Interpol’s finest, sat like a sack of flour against a lonely alley wall and knew that his last thoughts would be ones where he thought of Lupin the Third and how much he didn’t hate him. Which, sure, was embarrassing, but it wasn’t like anybody could  _ tell.  _ It was almost nice to have such a positive mindset at the very end. Even nicer when it was almost like he could hear Lupin’s voice, quiet and far away. 

He didn’t mind dying alone in an alleyway anymore. The memory of Lupin’s voice was surprisingly clear, if not a little muddy due to how dizzy he felt. His eyes were closed, and that voice rang out loudly, calling his name. It was strange, but it was good and familiar and made him feel very safe. The ghost of Lupin’s hands squeezed his shoulders and--

“ _ KOICHI ZENIGATA, YOU STAY AWAKE AND DON’T YOU FUCKING DIE ON ME, DAMMIT!”  _ Lupin’s voice was suddenly very loud and very close and very, very real. As were his hands as they shook Zenigata’s shoulders, and his forehead as it pressed against the inspector’s. 

“Wh…?” Zenigata managed to peel his eyes open and found himself nose to nose with Lupin. “Are you real?” He murmured.

“Oh, thank God,” Lupin sighed quickly, before turning his attention back to the injured man. “Yes, yes, I’m real, I’m right here, Pops. I’m right here. Okay? So don’t you worry,” 

“I’m not worried,” 

“Right, of course, you shouldn’t be.” He shot Zenigata a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can you stand? Jigen’s bringing the helicopter, but there isn’t really a place he can land it, so you’ll have to be standing so I can hold you while Goemon and Fujiko pull us up on the ladder,” 

“Lupin, a helicopter?” he slurred, knitting his eyebrows together. 

“Yes, yes, we’re getting you out of here. The guy who owns this place is real pissed that you essentially helped me escape and is kinda out for your blood,” 

“Helped you?” 

“Mhm. When you took that bullet for me,” he laughed, but it wasn’t mean or mocking. It was a soft, quiet sound. “you big idiot, I would’ve been fine. I can dodge, you know, I’m pretty fast!”

“You aren’t  _ that  _ fast,” the inspector quietly reminded him. Lupin made a pained expression, though it didn’t seem to be due to the fact that somebody was doubting his speed. His eyes swept across Zenigata’s face, softening. “you know you aren’t, right? You couldn’t ever dodge a bullet that close.”

“Hmm.” Lupin, instead of answering, very carefully brought his arm beneath Zenigata’s, hand with a firm grip on his waist to steady him. He braced himself as he lifted the injured man, a little awkwardly holding him up due to their height difference. Still, he managed, and Zenigata was now standing (more leaning), and Lupin was holding him up with this determined look on his face that the ICPO inspector had definitely seen many, many times. The world was still fuzzy and extremely unpleasantly muddled. Zenigata’s head lolled back. His legs weren’t working properly. Everything was dark and barely there.

Lupin was the only clear thing in the entire universe, it felt like. But that was normal. 

Mere moments after he was brought to his feet, the welcome sound of helicopter blades cut through the silence above, and a ladder was very slowly and deliberately lowered onto the floor. 

“Alright, now, Pops, you better stay conscious for this. If you fall, I don’t know if I’ll be able to catch you,” Lupin instructed gently. 

“Mmh. Why bother,” Zenigata joked, and Lupin shot him a look of pissed off concern and-- those  _ couldn’t  _ be tears in his eyes, could they? 

“Don’t say things like that, not right now. Hold onto me.  _ Tight.”  _ He ordered, and Zenigata had no choice but to comply, stooping slightly to wrap both arms around the thief’s shoulders as he felt the arm around his waist curl almost painfully tight. There was blood all over the thief’s jacket, and Zenigata felt very bad for ruining it. Maybe he’d find a way to make it up to him.

When Lupin’s hand pressed firmly over his wound, Zenigata made an involuntary, strangled little mewl, tears stinging the corners of his eye. He felt like he would be sick as Lupin’s hushed apology was whispered into his ear before he stepped onto the ladder. The helicopter lifted the pair off of the ground, Lupin managing to keep a firm hold on Zenigata as Fujiko and Goemon struggled to bring them into the passenger’s side of the contraption.

It was all finally over. He would be safe, taken to a hospital, and taken care of. He allowed himself a moment of relaxation as he was placed on the floor, probably to keep from jostling too much, and his eyes closed on their own accord. 

He wasn’t going to die. 

He dared to breathe a sigh of relief, feeling dizzy and suddenly very sleepy, lulled by the sounds of Goemon’s voice, by the feeling of warm hands on his shivering body, by the hum of the copter and whir of its blades. Fujiko’s perfume smelled nice, and her skin was soft as her hands made quick work of his jacket and the buttons of his once stark, white blouse, now stained crimson. 

...Huh? 

Before he knew it, his entire upper half was bare, and, with a hiss of pain that forced its way through his teeth, he felt something cold get poured onto his wound. 

It was just that, at first-- cold, probably water or something to rinse out any dirt or other things that may have gotten into the gushing, open wound. 

But then, without warning, it started  _ burning.  _ The pain of the bullet wound combined with this was  _ unbearable,  _ and Zenigata groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut, only to have his nose pinched and that same liquid poured into his mouth. His body forced him to swallow with minimal resistance, though he sputtered and spat some of it along the way. It smelled strong as it dribbled down his chin and sloshed onto his bare chest.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anything that will knock you out,” Goemon explained grimly. “Alcohol will definitely help, though I’m not sure how much. Either way, I would advise you to drink, Zenigata. This won’t be easy on you.” The samurai’s instructions were said with a dark tone, and Zenigata was quick to push the bottle, filled with vodka, away from his face.

“What the  _ hell  _ do you mean something that will ‘knock me out’?! Aren’t you taking me to a hospital?!” He spat as a fresh wave of pain crashed through his body. Fujiko winced from where she was holding his shoulders down. 

“That’s the thing, Pops,” Lupin said softly from beside him. The blades of the helicopter were not so calming anymore. “you’re in big trouble for not letting those servants shoot me. The owner of the house actually kinda wants you dead, figuring that you were working with me since you took that bullet,” he made an apologetic expression as Zenigata’s eyes widened. 

“...You don’t mean…?” He gasped, fear taking control of his body, freezing him in place. This couldn’t be happening. No, no, no, this could  _ not be happening.  _

“I’m sorry. This will hurt, I won’t lie. But we can’t leave you openly bleeding, and we can’t take you to a hospital. Bare with us, Pops,” his voice was gentle and he made a motion that told Zenigata to take a few more gulps of the vodka. He did, the liquid burning all the way down his throat, settling hot and uncomfortable in his stomach. He drank very deeply, knowing what was about to come, trying to fill his head with thoughts of  _ anything  _ else. There were seriously going to try and remove the bullet, possibly even give him stitches. Were they even qualified? 

The vodka was making him feel too sick, he realized, as Fujiko took it away. 

“You’re going to throw up, slow down, old man,” she scolded very gently. It wasn’t angry or cocky, but a mere slap to the wrist, something for Zenigata’s own good. He opened his mouth to reply, to assure her that he was okay, that he would rather be piss drunk than have to soberly deal with  _ this. _

And then a scream tore itself from his body, so loud and so strained that he wondered for a moment if it even  _ was _ him. One of Goemon’s hands were pressed to his stomach, keeping him in place, while the other was reaching  _ into the hole in his abdomen with a pair of tweezers _ . Pain pulsed all throughout the inspector’s body, and he shrieked when the bullet was grabbed and slowly, oh so terribly slowly pulled away from his flesh. Fresh blood spurted from his wound with sickening squelches. Zenigata saw red. 

Everything was happening so fast but, at the same time, like it was in slow motion, like the whole moment was drowning in molasses. Screaming, straining against too many hands, trying to process too many voices. The angry whir of helicopter blades, the voices of those around him telling him to _ hang in there _ , to  _ please be still, it’s almost over!  _ and the burning, disgusting taste of cheap vodka. 

Zenigata, overwhelmed, leaned over and vomited, much of it pooling around his cheek, pouring from his nose. He sobbed, Fujiko making a loud noise of disgust but still keeping her hold on him.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Lupin cursed loudly, reaching a hand up to wipe the hair from the inspector’s sweaty brow. “God, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re doing fine,” he soothed, though his voice was in a shout and he was visibly panicked. 

The feeling of getting stitches done while conscious and not on any type of numbing medicine was new and enough to make Zenigata tilt his head to the side once more and puke, body thrashing beneath all of those hands holding him to the floor of the helicopter. The needle was not gentle, and the thread pulling through wet, bleeding flesh was such a disgusting, awful sensation that he was nearly sick for a third time. 

The smell of blood and vomit, the feeling of Goemon sewing his wound closed, commenting about how Zenigata was “lucky no organs had been punctured, otherwise this would be a lethal shot,” so many hands holding him down, so many voices, the sound of the helicopter, the rush of the wind. 

It was so overwhelming, and right as the needle was pushed into his skin to once more add another stitch, Zenigata was out cold.


	2. thin lacy curtains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenigata takes painkillers and knocks himself cold for a second time. He's still too stupid to ask where he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zenigata got his shit fucking ROCKED can we pleeease get an f in the chat

Though Zenigata’s eyes were closed, he could see that wherever he was, it was light. Though it wasn’t a buzzing, headache-inducing fluorescent light like he’d been expecting, it’s a lot gentler than that. Comfortably, it hits his body in different places, warm and safe and familiar, easing him more and more into consciousness. 

He flutters his eyes, able to see the pink of light filtering through his lids, a tame, flushed color that paints his lashes rosy and soft. With satisfaction, he imagines this type of pink to be the color of love, though he isn’t particularly sure where exactly this thought came from. It quickly shoos itself away though when he hears the sound of cowbells in the distance. Curiosity fills his head and spills over into his eyes, which draw open halfway, attempting to drink up everything around him.

Beneath him is a bed, large and surprisingly comfortable, complete with bee-pattern sheets and a big patchwork blanket draped over Zenigata’s body-- which, he notes, is clad with a pair of striped pyjama pants and, covering his upper half, is a tank-top. Next, he notices the walls, which are papered with a rosebud pattern and adorned with knick-knacks and bits and bobs. A framed butterfly, a painting of a beautiful woman, her plump figure nude and sprawling on a fainting sofa, draped in fine silks, with a pudgy little belly and fat thighs and cute, round cheeks. A few glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars sat plastic and slightly green where they perched on the walls and smattered on the ceiling, which had a fan that was spinning languidly. It wasn’t on, though, but rather being pushed by a gentle breeze that had invited itself in from a plain, square window with a simple frame and quaint, white lace curtains pushed to each side. They looked thin and fluttered slightly with the breeze that was now dancing playfully across Zenigata’s face, tickling his nose and kissing his cheeks. Next to the window hung a windchime, simple gold wire frame connected to shards of stained glass, light shifting and spilling out all across the bed and carpeted floor with shivering, ethereal droplets of color. 

A beam of early morning sunlight stretched across his middle and splashed onto his face, but it wasn’t unpleasant or blinding. In fact, it had been dulled by the soft, candyfloss clouds that drifted lazily against the light livid sky and milky yellow morning sun. He must’ve been in paradise. Or some kind of special hospital. Or, perhaps, he thought with a private chuckle, he was dead. Whatever the answer, this cozy little room with its blushing atmosphere and tinkling stained glass windchime singing sweetly as the breeze waltzed it to and fro from where it hung seemed exactly like some sort of heaven, and Zenigata was determined to drown himself in it. 

First order of business, he thought, was to find out where in the hell those cowbells were coming from! The most probably answer was-- you guessed it-- a herd of cows, but there couldn’t be cows where he was. Hadn’t he just been plucked from a dingy alleyway? Hadn’t he just passed out from pain and bloodloss and alcohol? 

...Speaking of which, just as all good things come to an end, when Zenigata opened his eyes fully, a hard, throbbing headache burst through his brain. He moaned, sitting up to put his head between his legs, but his eyes flashed red and for a moment he was temporarily blind, feeling as though he were being torn in half at the side. Instantly, his hands flew to press against the bullet wound he had forgotten he had, and another wave of pain crashed into him with the force of a tsunami. His temporary bliss was quickly shattered and replaced with the burning, explosive feeling of Goemon fishing that bullet out of his abdomen, pushing him down. The smell of vomit, the tang of blood, the whir of helicopter blades. The overwhelming sensation of it all coming back to him, hitting him with fresh shoots of pain coursing throughout his entire body. With a loud, strained groan, he slowly melted back into the plush softness of the bed beneath him. 

The cowbells could most definitely wait. He would discover them later. For now, he had to focus on not feeling like he was going to combust any second, whimpering and whining and trying to completely fuse himself with the mattress below him. Sure, it had hurt when he was shot, and sure, it had felt like hell on earth when he was being stitched back together again, but  _ fuck!  _ If he knew it would hurt this horribly when he was in such a dreamy place and the heat of the moment was over, he would rather have died.

“Geez, Pops, does it really hurt that bad?” A deep, rumble of a voice piped up from the doorway, whose door had been closed mere moments before.

“Nnggh…. I… Who..?” Zenigata struggled to speak, clutching his side and blinking away stinging tears. 

“Calm down, it’s just me,” the voice said again. Zenigata made another noise, and the speaker realized that they would probably have to specify. “Jigen. Uh, it’s me, Jigen. You know my voice by now, so I kinda assumed… But I guess since you’re practically only halfway conscious…” Jigen, who Zenigata had not heard come in, let his voice die in his throat, and the last few statements were more mumbled to himself rather than spoken to the inspector, who couldn’t even see straight he was in so much pain. 

A tall, lanky figure, all skin, and bones and long limbs-- definitely Jigen-- loomed above Zenigata, and for a moment, he worried that he would finish the job. That perhaps he was only in such a nice place to bring him a false sense of security, that he was soon going to be murdered, putting him out of Lupin’s way. 

“Hey,” that rumble of a voice softened, and a firm hand pressed to Zenigata’s face, covering his eyes. It was very strangely comforting, and Zenigata noted how his hands smelled like ash and gunpowder. “hey.” He said again, this time quieter, and the inspector felt the tenseness melt away from his body. Or, at least the fear of being hurt further-- he was still stiff as petrified wood, pain still coursing through every single nerve in his body. 

“Jigen,” he managed through gritted teeth. 

“I have painkillers, but you’re gonna have to sit up for them,” 

“I think I’m dying,” 

“Don’t be dramatic, Pops. Goemon fixed you up real nice. Sorry to break it to ya but you’re far from dead,” Jigen chuckled, removing his hand from Zenigata’s face. “now. Can you dry swallow?” He asked, reaching into his pocket. He was less blurry now, the pain dulling just a little bit. 

“I can dry swallow,” Zenigata choked out, still lying on his back, never wanting to move again. The pain was slowly, oh so slowly subsiding, and he didn’t want to risk it coming back. 

“Okay. Good. Now, these things pack a real punch, and they make you pretty groggy, but I think you’ll definitely want them,” 

“Shut up and give me the damn painkiller,” Zenigata whimpered, voice not as demanding as he had wanted it to be, instead coming out in a pathetic little plea, his mouth curved into a hard frown, eyebrows knit together. Jigen hummed in reply, taking out two small white pills the size of M&Ms and placing them gently in the trembling palm of a very distraught inspector. 

“If you feel like you’re gonna puke ‘em up… don’t,” Jigen remarked, quite unhelpfully. Zenigata chose to ignore this comment, concentrating all of his energy on carefully moving his arm, raising his hand to his mouth, and popping the pills. His eyes squeezed shut, throat closing on instinct as he tried to choke the damned things  _ down _ . He gagged, noticing the pungent flavor-- the longer it stayed in his mouth, the worse it tasted. 

Finally, after a humiliating amount of time, the painkillers were forced down his throat, and the poor inspector was left sputtering and coughing, side burning with pain at all of the movement. 

“...Let’s use water, next time,” he wheezed, eyes watery and cheeks flushed from his coughing and struggling. 

“I’ll say,” Jigen agreed, slipping his thumbs into his pockets.

There was a moment where the two of them were silent. It wasn’t dreadfully awkward, but it wasn’t quite comfortable, either. The gunman had this look of what seemed like pity on his face, and his eyes (when Zenigata could actually see them) kept flicking to the inspector’s waist, lingering on the spot that had been injured. Outside, the cowbells clanged softly, and the sound of rustling foliage along with the tinkle of the windchime inside made Zenigata close his eyes. 

_ That’s right, _ he thought, taking a deep breath and sighing, hoping to God that the painkiller would kick in soon.  _ I still don’t know where I am. _

“Jigen, hey--” he began to ask that very question, but, when he opened his eyes to speak further, the gunman had turned on his heel and was walking away. 

“Lupin will explain it all to you when he comes back,” Jigen said quite simply, practically answering Zenigata’s question before it even had the chance to touch his lips. “I would, but he wants to be the one to tell you everything. Which makes it sound so awful,” he paused, turning over his shoulder to smile at Zenigata, that usual sly-fox grin that didn’t really mean mischief but also didn’t  _ not  _ mean mischief. “I promise you, it isn’t. Lupin is making this whole damn thing real grim, I suspect he just feels bad, though. You’ll hear it from him, so don’t worry too much about it. I’ll be around, same with Goemon and Fujiko and, of course, Lupin’ll be back any day now, so just give a shout if you need anything.” 

With that, he had turned back around and shuffled out of the dreamlike room, clicking the door softly shut with one hand while the other began to rummage around in his pockets. 

Huh. 

Strange. 

Jigen-- legendary perfect gunman, stone-cold and merciless, yes,  _ that  _ Jigen-- just tried his hand at  _ comforting  _ Zenigata before giving him painkillers and telling him not to worry. The inspector supposed it was just another thing he would have to add to his list of questions of  _ how  _ and  _ what  _ and  _ why, _ but for now he simply wanted to fall back to sleep. If he was still enough, he was able to forget about his headache and the throbbing pain from his injury, and he was almost as comfortable as when he woke up. 

The white lacy curtains waved softly. They were quite pretty, very expensive looking and dainty, but at the same time, appeared so very modest and common that it could be possible that they were simply made from spare cloth. 

That, Zenigata noticed, was how a vast majority of the objects in this room seemed. Expensive but cheap and homey all at once.

The outside came in through the opened window, nothing but relaxing sounds and the aroma of sweetgrass and cowslip. Zenigata’s eyes slid shut, and he hummed. If he focused  _ very  _ hard and willed himself to think of nothing but those sweet, welcome noises, he could imagine that all of his pain was gone. He could ignore it completely and just lie there, still and silent and letting the blanket devour him whole. He could think of it as some sort of a vacation, which, of course, in itself, was strange. He didn’t take vacations. It just wasn’t his style. Nevertheless, if he was going to be stuck in-- well,  _ wherever  _ the hell he was, he might as well enjoy it. Could it really be so bad? 

He thought back to what Jigen had told him.  _ “Lupin will explain it all to you when he comes back.”  _ Hm. 

_ When he comes back.  _ Zenigata chewed on this thought for a while. Where exactly had he gone? The inspector knew that he had been in the helicopter with him; he was worried and handsy and doing his best to soothe the injured man’s mind. But wasn’t that only a few hours ago? Surely, Zenigata thought with a knot in his stomach, he couldn’t have been out for more than a night… Surely, he swallowed hard, he couldn’t have been out for more than a day. Or two. An old-looking calendar hung up on the wall closest to the door, pages yellowing slightly, a picture of a few pumpkins painted quaintly at the top, proceeding the month which, in brown, neat cursive, read  _ September 1964.  _ The twentieth had been circled. It had been the sixth of March when he had been taken.

Alright, so maybe that wouldn’t be the most helpful thing to look at right now, Zenigata thought, worrying at his lower lip and pulling the fat, goose-feather blanket up to his chin. He would find out how long he had been out when Jigen returned, he assured himself. Or maybe Goemon or Fujiko would come in, interrogate him and such before leaving (maybe even bring more painkillers! And water, this time. Zenigata realized he had built up quite a thirst). 

This thought brought him to another concern that made itself know quite abruptly. The inspector vaguely remembered Lupin telling him about how Zenigata was in trouble with the family the thief had stolen from because he had taken that bullet. That was why he wasn’t allowed in any hospital, or, apparently, out of the Lupin gang’s sight. 

But what if that had all been a  _ lie?  _ What if he wasn’t in any sort of trouble at all, and he was simply being held as a hostage? This whole “cozy” getup was probably just a ruse to trick Zenigata into a false sense of comfort, and that’s when Lupin would strike. He had no telling where the little rat would go. With the inspector bedridden and in his line of sight, he was pretty much free to do as he pleased!

Then again, if he  _ was  _ actually being held, hostage, would anybody actually care? After he had been shot by the servant, the entire staff seemed to just step over him as they chased Lupin, never once pausing for even a second to check and make sure that Zenigata wasn’t… well, wasn’t dead on the damned floor. 

So now here he was. Stuck in a foreign place, injured, and surrounded by the enemy. And, to put a nice little spin on it, he could potentially be in trouble with the family whose golden goodies he had promised (and failed quite miserably) to protect, which might actually lead to his demise. But, he could also just be a prisoner in a little dreamy room, ready to be killed or disposed of some other way at a moment’s notice. He had to keep on his toes and really think this one out. As soon as that damn medicine started to work, maybe he would shimmy out the window and make his crafty escape! The sound of the cowbells were close enough to suggest that he could be on the first floor, and if he just grit his teeth, he could probably have the strength to make a run for it. 

It may be a little difficult, especially considering the fact that he had literally been shot in the abdomen, but he always managed somehow. That little slip-up couldn’t possibly slow him down in the grand scheme of things.

Right. Right, that’s it, Zenigata thought triumphantly. That settles it. He would crawl out of bed-- maybe even  _ now,  _ as the painkillers seemed to have kicked in; he could barely feel a thing!-- and slide through the window, just like a crook. From there, he would just  _ go,  _ making a break for it in any direction that his instincts told him to go. 

Yeah… That was a good plan. Zenigata allowed himself a smug little grin despite having nobody to show it to and snuggled deeper beneath the blankets and into the pillows. He would get up soon He  _ would,  _ really. His eyelids just seemed a little bit heavy. Had Jigen said that the painkillers would make him groggy or foggy? It was probably nothing. He would be up in a jiffy, and then he would escape his heavenly prison. He let his eyes close for a moment, suppressing a yawn. 

Well, this bed  _ was  _ awfully comfortable. It’d be quite a big shame to let it go to waste. Not to mention the fact that the day was so very peaceful. Perhaps, if he waited a minute or two, conditions would be more favorable for a breakout. 

He would leave soon, really. He would. Just after he rested his eyes for a minute. 

\---

Warm hands pressed into Zenigata’s side, nimble and careful, fiddling with some sort of cloth. He felt a chill wash over his body, the warmth from earlier in the day completely gone, though perhaps it was just the blanket that was missing. He couldn’t see the sunlight from beneath his eyelids, so maybe that room he had been in previously was a dream-- he was probably in a dark, cool hospital right now, being treated properly by a nurse. However, when he heard the tinkling of a wind chime and the feeling of a cold, damp breeze brush against his bare chest and cling to his skin, his eye cracked open, head fuzzy and mouth tasting quite stale. 

He was still in the room, except now it was darker, colder. The walls were bathed in moonlight that seeped in from outside, the lacy white curtains still parted down the middle, revealing a rich night sky. Zenigata spotted several constellations, each one shining stupendously, twinkling bright white against the almost black navy and velvety Byzantium hues. One the walls and ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark stars cast their own light, soft and tinted green.

It was then that he remembered the hands on his side, and, shifting slightly so that the bed creaked beneath him, he laid his eyes on none other than Goemon, whose eyes were locked and concentrating on the task laid out before him. 

Without acknowledging Zenigata, he asked, “I didn’t wake you, did I?” 

“Uh--” Zenigata shook his head slightly, laying back down. The painkillers were still very much working and had apparently done quite a good job mere moments after he had taken them. “no, you’re fine. How long have I been asleep?” 

“Just around the whole day. You took that medicine this morning, right? Well, it’s 11:00 PM, now,” 

“Oh,” was all the inspector could say as something cold touched his skin. Gooseflesh erected on his arms, sending shivers up his spine as Goemon rubbed Neosporin onto his stitched wound. His fingers warmed the gel quickly, and soon, the sensation wasn’t cold or uncomfortable anymore. In fact, it could almost be pleasant. 

“When Jigen told us you had awoken, we were all quite relieved. You passed out on the helicopter and hadn’t woken up for quite some time-- we worried that you may be dying for a few days, actually. But you were just tired, I think.” 

“Hmm…” Zenigata considered the samurai for a moment. He didn’t seem to have any ulterior motive for being here; he wasn’t even carrying his Zantetsu sword, which was strange and rather out of character for him-- _ wait.  _

_ “A FEW DAYS?!”  _ Zenigata suddenly lunged his upper half-forward, looking at the shocked samurai with wide eyes.

Bad idea. 

The painkillers may have helped, but they didn’t completely numb the pain, and the poor inspector soon found himself groaning as he lowered himself back onto the mattress, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, cheeks flushed and teeth digging into his bottom lip. He made a strained noise through his teeth, and Goemon, who had almost immediately calmed down after the initial fright of the inspector suddenly leaping out at him, was patting his shoulder gently (if not a little awkwardly) to coax him out of his panic. 

“Yes, a few days. It’s been four in total, and we’ve been tending to your wounds through all of them.” He nodded his head in a fairly comforting manner, reassuring Zenigata with soft, empathetic eyes. “I can promise you there’s no need to worry. We called your boss to tell him that you were safe, though, of course, he isn’t very pleased with you after that stunt you pulled, rescuing Lupin and all,” Goemon returned to his previous task, rubbing the Neosporin in the rest of the way before peeling open a bandage and wriggling a fat, white patch free from the paper wrapping. 

“R-rescue?” Zenigata’s eyes widened. “No, no! I didn’t  _ rescue  _ Lupin, it was just… It was basic human decency! It’s my job to protect people, even criminals deserve to be safe from gun wounds!” 

“But the servants of that house had no intention of killing Lupin, only stopping him,” the samurai worked calmly, gingerly placing the large bandage over the stitches he had made previously, smoothing down the adhesive part onto Zenigata’s skin with delicate fingers. “if they were, Inspector, I believe you wouldn’t have survived. You could have very easily captured Lupin if his shoulder or leg was shot,” 

“But what kind of dirty, cheap cop would I be if I did  _ that!”  _ Zenigata roared, cheeks flushing with frustration. 

“Calm down, I’m not saying it’s bad you saved him,” for the first time, Goemon looked the inspector directly in the eye. “in fact, I think it’s very honorable of you to put your rival’s life before your own. We’re all quite grateful for your heroic actions,”

Zenigata blinked in surprise, and suddenly, his face was no longer flushed due to frustration. He turned his head away shyly, speaking softly. 

“It wasn’t heroic, just civil,” 

“Well, then I suppose it makes you a pretty good citizen.” Goemon’s voice hinted at a smile that never touched his lips. “I know you’ve already taken some, but why don’t you have another one of those pills?”

“What, are you trying to shut me up by forcing me to fall asleep again?” Zenigata turned back to face the other man, chuckling. Goemon hummed. 

“No, but I think you’ll want to be asleep most of the week. Soon, you’ll be able to move on your own again, but for now? It’ll be hell to try and push through the pain without a little assistance,” he held out his hand, containing only one painkiller this time, reaching for a glass of water he had put on the nightstand that Zenigata hadn’t noticed before. “I’m only making a suggestion, of course, but if you’d rather not right now, I’ll just leave it for you to take later.” 

“...N-no, I’ll take it now,” Zenigata remembered the searing pain he had felt earlier this morning and grimaced. He definitely would rather be unconscious for most of the healing process. 

After swallowing the pill down and draining the water glass, he took note that Goemon was still there. A little stiffly, he smiled at the other man, eyebrows knitting together in an almost apologetic manner. 

“I don’t know how I’ll repay you guys for all of this. Want me to turn a blind eye on your next few heists?” 

“Lupin doesn’t want you to, Fujiko already asked about that,” Goemon replied simply. “he feels bad. He considers what you’ve done to be payback enough, so we’re even, now. Once you get better, things will probably go back to how they were before, though I do have a sneaking suspicion that Lupin will be a little bit gentler with you,” 

“What, does he think I’m a baby or something? I can handle myself,” Zenigata grumbled, but he was secretly glad to hear that his debt had already been paid. Goemon huffed lightly, which could have actually been a little chuckle. 

“Lupin doesn’t seem to think so. He can get pretty overprotective when it comes down to life and death,” 

“I guess so.” 

The two men shared a moment drenched in silence except for the wind chimes and rustling of leaves outside. It wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as it had been earlier with Jigen, but perhaps that was because of the calming nature of the samurai. He always did seem to be the only one in that group with his head placed firmly on his shoulders rather than floating up in the clouds along with the others. 

“Get some rest, Inspector,” the shuffling of feet told Zenigata that Goemon was leaving. 

“Thank you,” he replied softly, not even sure if he had been heard. The other hummed in reply before clicking the door quietly shut, leaving the inspector in the dark stillness of the cool, comfortable room. He pulled the sheets back from where Goemon had taken them off and snuggled up beneath them once more, gazing up at the glow-in-the-dark stars, chewing on the samurai’s words. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the sound of cowbells is only ever nice and relaxing on actual cows. if u go to a soccer game or a graduation and jangle a cowbell around i might actually hurt u


	3. a little cottage in the countryside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after a little over two weeks, Zenigata is up and walking around! However, Lupin still hasn't arrived from wherever he is, which is a little concerning. Even so, the inspector is excited to explore the little cottage that he's found himself in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im trying to do one chapter a day, sorry if this one is a little later at night. my sister n i were busy kickin ass most of the day in zelda, we recently started up a game of majoras mask to. u know. distract from our quarantine. stay safe everyone! and try not to get too bored!!!! 
> 
> anyway jigen likes cows and that's canon. if you tell me otherwise i'll just start crying

Goemon had been right. For the next week or so, every time Zenigata woke up from his painkiller induced coma, he was thrown into an instant, unbearable bout of pain, starting with a dull throb coming from his side and then, mere seconds later, skyrocketing into a feeling similar to being incinerated. He was always brought more medicine, plenty of water, and simple foods like sandwiches or soups by either Jigen or Goemon, but Fujiko would occasionally stop in to check up on him when the two other men were busy. She had, with disdain, explained to him that she didn’t particularly enjoy staying in “this old, ratty little farmhouse,” and preferred to spend her valuable time elsewhere with more people, more money, and more booze. 

“I’m a city gal, can you blame me?” She once asked playfully, pouting her lips in the handheld mirror, whose mother of pearl and silver decorations glinted in the sunlight that poured in from the ever-open window in Zenigata’s room. Her hair hung in fat, red curls across her shoulders, and her eyeliner was sharp enough to cut a man’s throat. Her dress, red and tight, hugged just below her thighs, and she had kicky little black heels so high that she seemed to have grown four whole inches. 

“Is that where you’re headed to tonight?” The bedridden inspector chuckled as the girl turned her face to admire her jawline, batting mascara-laden lashes and lowering sparkling gold eyelids halfway in a lusty, flirtatious look (directed at, of course, herself). 

“Obviously,” she replied, giving one last pout to the mirror before placing it back in the drawer which she had found it in. She turned to face Zenigata, arching a masterfully shaped eyebrow. “I really do feel bad for you, you know. Being shot, then having to stay _here_ of all places,” 

It was then that, finally, Zenigata had the brains to ask where exactly _here_ was. Fujiko sat at the end of the bed, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands as she explained that he was currently residing in one of Lupin’s dead relative’s cottage that stood in the Provencal countryside. The cowbells outside were from a neighboring farm, which had an enormous, lush green field that stretched quite close to the cottage’s front garden. The cows, he learned, were mostly jersey, the sweetest things anybody had ever seen, and the farmer who owned them was a little old woman, even sweeter, who would often deliver jam and fresh fruits to Lupin when he stayed. 

The cottage was very old, built sometime in the early twentieth century, and had been lived in by much of Lupin’s family for years. The gang had only just recently started using it as a safe house, being quite careful when retreating there as to not attract police suspicion. 

“But I suppose that’s all out the window now that you’re here,” Fujiko sighed with a sad little smile, standing up once more to leave to Marseille, where she had rented out a fairly large hotel room. 

Fujiko had gone off that day leaving Zenigata to soak in the fact that he was in an entirely different country. He worried over it for maybe an hour tops before he realized he was with people he knew, people that wouldn’t hurt him (hopefully), people that, given the circumstances, were… oddly trustworthy. So, this little fact didn’t take too long to accept, and he was quick and happy to doze right off again, grateful for another dose of those saving grace painkillers. 

Lupin had still not returned by the end of the week and Zenigata wondered just _where_ the thief could have hidden away for such a long period of time. And now, with Fujiko now gone, it was only Goemon and Jigen, and Zenigata found that neither of the two seemed the conversationalist type. 

Because of this, the inspector often found himself feeling strangely lonely. He was used to at least _some_ form of human contact every day, but now he was stuck, confined to a bed with two stoic men looking after him, their humor sarcastic and their smiles dry. Lupin was just easier to talk to, often able to make a whole room light up with just his presence. He even made the inspector laugh. He was just the type of person you wanted around, destined rival or not.

But, unfortunately, he wasn’t around. He was nowhere to be seen, and as the week slipped into the weekend and dark, thick clouds began to creep into the pastel blue of the sky, turning it grey as the wind rutted against the cottage, he was still nowhere to be seen. 

\---

“It smells like rain,” Goemon remarked on Zenigata’s sixteenth day at the cottage as he closed up the window with a little strain. By now, the inspector only took one painkiller a day, and he felt as though he would be ready to move around without any assistance very soon. 

“Looks like it, too,” Zenigata responded simply. 

“Mmmm.” The lock on the window clicked shut, and those pretty white lace curtains stopped moving. The smell of petrichor and the electricity of a storm, though not quite as strong, was still evident in the quaint, beautiful room. “I believe Lupin will be arriving soon,” 

Zenigata turned from where he was propped up on the bed, book in hand. He had found a copy of _Little Women_ beneath the nightstand, and discovered that despite being a man in his forties, he still took pleasure in reading such a sweet classic. He blinked up at Goemon, running his index finger absently over the old, damaged cover, slowly closing the book, leaving his thumb between the yellowing pages to keep his place. 

“Where was he?” 

“Well, I--” Goemon paused for a moment, seeming to battle with some brief inner turmoil on whether or not to actually tell the inspector where his boss had been. In the end, he furrowed his eyebrows, shrugged, and told him anyway, turning away from the window and leaning against the wall. “I believe that he was off tying up a few loose ends from our last heist. He’s being very careful with this one,” 

“Typical. Always going the extra mile to make sure he isn’t caught,” Zenigata smiled doggishly, making a small _humph_ sound in his throat. 

“Well, actually, Zenigata, I’m quite sure that he’s doing it so that _you_ aren’t caught. You’d be surprised how worried he is for your safety,” 

The inspector’s eyes widened, just a bit, for a split second. His throat grew dry. His hands fidgeted slightly, bending and folding the pages of _Little Women_ between his thumb and index finger. He didn’t respond to Goemon’s statement and instead found himself to be engrossed in the litte patterns of the stitches that held his patchwork blanket together. They were made from thick, yellow thread, and went quite nicely with the mottled oranges and dusty reds and earthy browns of the fabric. Huh. So Lupin was worried about his safety. Not a big deal, right? It wasn’t like this would be the first time. After all, Zenigata knew that he would have done the exact same thing if he were in Lupin’s shoes. Sure, they were rivals, but that didn’t mean that they hated one another. It was just basic, simple kindness to save another human being. That’s all this was.

“Has your recovery gone well?” The samurai’s voice brought Zenigata back to earth, and he looked over with glazed eyes and a small, occupied frown. 

“Hm?”

“Your recovery, Inspector. Are you feeling any better?” 

“I--ah-- oh. Yes, yes, a lot better, thanks. I think I should be good to go in a few more days,” 

“Maybe good to move around with no aid, but I’m afraid you won’t be completely ready to leave this place for quite some time,” Goemon’s tone shifted slightly, not enough to dampen the cozy atmosphere, but just enough to notice the grim, dark edge that lined his voice. “bullet wounds, as I’m sure you are aware, are no joke.” 

Zenigata swallowed hard. 

“I know that,” 

Goemon nodded, pushing a strand of thick, black hair behind his ear. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Zenigata.” 

The inspector swallowed hard, nodding his head slightly as the samurai walked out of the room. And then, with the close of a door and a rumble of thunder from very far away, Zenigata was alone all over again, stuck in this little house for at least another few weeks. 

\---

It was another full day before Zenigata swung his legs experimentally over the side of the bed and gently pressed his sock-clad feet to the soft, fluffy, well cared for carpet that covered the expanse of his room’s floor. Goemon and Jigen had made damn well sure that he hadn’t been moving around for the first two weeks, and because of this, the inspector was immensely pleased to find that when he stood up with a grunt and many solid, loud pops along the length of his spine, he barely felt the pain of his beautifully healing bullet wound. He took a deep breath, sighing, allowing himself a little moment of victory as he got on his tippy toes and stretched deeply, joints cracking, muscles finally relaxing, body melting into bonelessness when he fell back to the soles of his feet. 

He felt so loose, in fact, that his knees buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor with a hard _thump_ , though his ass and legs were comfortably cushioned by the immaculate carpet. 

He took a moment to compose himself, taking another large inhale, exhaling as he shakily brought himself back up to a standing position. His legs wobbled as he did so, and he found himself worrying at his lower lip, eyebrows knit in determination. Thank _God_ neither Jigen nor Goemon was around to witness this little Bambi-esque display. How fucking _embarrassing._

After a few moments, his legs finally began to do what he wanted them to, and he was vastly grateful to find that he hadn’t forgotten how to walk (something that he knew was damn near _impossible,_ and he felt silly for thinking it but… still. He couldn’t help it!). He stood to his full height, and a childlike giddiness took the form of butterflies suddenly flitting about in his stomach; he finally got to explore the little room, as well as the rest of the cottage! His eyes lit up at the very thought, eager to, at last, have _something_ to do while he was recuperating from his injury.

Outside, the storm that had been so very pent up _finally_ decided to make its presence known to the world. The droplets were fat and heavy and loud against the window in Zenigata’s room, beating down against the roof, against the walls, against the field and the garden out front. The dark clouds had completely obscured the sun, and the inspector was now reliant upon several lamps that shone cheerfully in their respective places within the room. 

One was simple and short and right next to his bed, sitting quaintly on his bedside table. Its lightbulb had no shade, but instead, several multi-colored glass beads hung around it in strands. Another, standing quite squat atop the milky white dresser across from his bed, had a ceramic cactus base with a simple, off-white shade. Atop the shade, however, draped two very thin pieces of pink fabric, which dimmed the light comfortably and painted it a warm, safe red. 

The yellow wooden door, he noticed, was already beginning to swell with the pressure of the rain, and he had to bonk his hip against it a few times to get it open. Each time he made contact, the dull throb of pain made itself noticeable in his side, and he hissed ever so slightly as he finally managed to shove the damned thing _open._ He stumbled forward with a quiet yelp, graceless and without much of a plan as to where he was going. He found himself poking his head out into a hallway which, he was surprised to learn, served as the upper floor of the cottage. 

The hallway was comfortably dark as well, with old, hardwood floors, and a big window at the very end, the sill holding two potted plants that were spilling from their painted pots and creeping down to the floor. The curtains, he noticed, were different from the ones in his room: these were a fluttery yellow, with swirly white patterns stitched in at the bottom. They were open, revealing the vast world outside. Zenigata smiled softly, sliding his socks along the creaky, old floor, and touching the flowery, wallpapered walls lightly with his fingertips as he made his way down the empty hall. There were a few doors along the way, all of them the same, dull mustard yellow as his, paint chipping slightly to reveal the dark, brown wood beneath. 

Upon reaching the window, Zenigata stood with his face a little too close, and with each gentle exhale, his breath fogged the glass ever so slightly. He didn’t take note of it, though, instead enjoying the coolness he could feel despite not even touching the window and the view that seemed to have been a painting stolen from the Louvre. 

The fields were vast and emerald green, glistening with the rain that was still pouring in sheets across the land. Yellow glimpses of cowslip made themselves known as they rustled in the wind. Fire-red poppies and delicate, kiss-pink peonies stood together in clumps, dotting the pasture with splashes of springtime color. Zenigata had to squint to see the farm in the distance, the barn tall and painted a classic dusty red, while the house next to it was a light, airy, eggshell blue, the trim, and roof both an old, off-white. Ah. _So that must be the source of the cowbells,_ he thought, retreating away from the window with a few steps back before turning on his heel and walking towards the staircase.

Gooseflesh lined his arms, the chill of the rain getting to him as, with a mind full of curiosity, he arrived at the top of the stairs, pressing his hand into the banister as he began to slowly, carefully, steadily descend, one creaking step at a time. The dark, stained wood was obviously very old and smelled faintly sweet, not sickeningly so, but to the point where it was light and foresty and vaguely appley.

At the base of the stairs, a woven rope rug sat, worn and maroon in color. Bits of rope stuck up and clung ever so slightly to Zenigata’s wool socks, and when he looked up, the inspector found himself in a big, cozy sitting room, lit and warmed by a roaring fire that merrily crackled and popped inside of a large, brick furnace. A sizeable, squashy, light brown chair sagged beside the fireplace, and closest to Zenigata was a couch with big, fat mocha cushions and chunky hickory legs. Two saffron pillows perched on either end of the couch, adding a splash of color to the dull, earthiness of the piece of furniture. In the middle of the sitting room lay a huge rectangular tufted-wool rug; it took up most of the sitting room, leaving only a little bit of the cherrywood floor visible in the corners and at the outskirts of the room. It was a mellow, yellowy-cream color with an olive green border, and was decorated with dully colored wildflowers, their stems a warm green, leaves lined with pea colored thread. 

Along the walls of the sitting room hung paintings and photographs alike. Intricate frames held beautiful, plump ladies similar to the one in Zenigata’s room, as well as lush meadows with rolling hills and soft, enchanting clouds. The inspector’s favorite, however, was a grand oil painting that depicted a picnic. Six friends gathered languidly around a white blanket that harbored a bottle of red wine and what looked like marvelous plates of fine cheese and fruits placed periodically among the finely dressed bodies. 

Zenigata squinted slightly. Where had he seen this before? He recognized the style of painting, the poses of the friends, the colors, the atmosphere… It looked so incredibly familiar… Surely it couldn’t be…?

And then, like a puzzle with the last piece firmly in place, it clicked. _Yup,_ he thought with an unexpectedly but pleasantly amused chuckle. _This Lupin’s relative’s place, alright._

The painting was most definitely Pal Merse Szinyei’s _A Picnic in May,_ obviously stolen from the Hungarian National Gallery in Budapest. It wasn’t a very well-known piece of art, so the inspector was almost surprised that it had been stolen, but it sure made for one hell of a decoration on the walls of such a sweet little cottage. Perhaps, Zenigata thought as he turned his back on the painting and faced a small entryway that led to the kitchen, Lupin the First stole for aesthetic reasons just as much as financial reasons. Having stolen works of art in one’s home _did_ seem like a pretty Lupin-centric thing, after all. 

As soon as Zenigata walked into the kitchen, he was made aware of the presence of Jigen, who was leaning against a spider-top stove, waiting for a blue kettle to boil. 

“Pops,” he said simply, lifting his head enough so that his eyes just barely peeked from beneath his fedora. “you’re standing.” 

“I am,” Zenigata replied, almost as surprised as Jigen. The gunman smiled, huffing out a small chuckle as he moved across the room to sag into a wooden chair that sat at a circular oaken table. 

The floors were made of white tile, and the walls papered a cheerful buttercup yellow. The shelves were rustic and lined with ingredients such as sugar and flour, as well as several big cooking bowls and some potted plants. Three tiny canvasses hung on the wall, one above the other, with fat, painted chickens in varying poses. The stove looked decently old, as well as the refrigerator and microwave. The toaster was a little rusted at the edges, and the blender, which stood next to it in its respective corner, had a little chip off at the top. The counter was wooden with beech cabinets along the bottom of it. A few floating cabinets, of the same material, perched above the countertop, no doubt holding cups and plates and bowls. On the ceiling, lighting fixtures hung from thick chords: steel half-circles containing white-yellow bulbs that cast a jovial glow over the kitchen. Dried rosemary and wild onions hung from a little place beneath the microwave, strung together smartly with twine. A cupboard stood behind the circular table, cracked open to reveal shelves lined with an array of jams, as well as pumpkin spread and a few jars of marmalade. There were pickled olives and jalapenos and--well, pickles, all lined up near the bottom shelves. More dried herbs such as thyme and sage, sorrel and tarragon, hung in merry little bunches along the walls.

Jigen hummed a pleasant little laugh from where he sat, long legs now stretched out across the top of the table. He wasn’t wearing his shoes, and there was a hole on the heel of his grey sock. 

“You look like a kid in a damned candy store there, Pops. You enjoy run-down little shacks like this?” He mused, and Zenigata turned to look at him, suddenly very aware of the fact that he had just spun in a slow, awe-stricken circle to soak up his surroundings. His cheeks dusted red, and he looked away bashfully. 

“Ah-- well. I’m just happy to be feeling better, is all,” he chuckled. 

“I’m sure you would be. This place is pretty tightly packed, eh? Lupin’s old relatives had quite the knack for uh-- let’s just call it ‘collecting’ things and keeping them in this old joint,” 

Zenigata thought back to the painting he had seen in the sitting room and laughed, pulling out a chair across from Jigen and sitting carefully in it. “Yeah, I can tell,” 

Behind him, the kettle began to shriek, and Jigen stood with a soft grunt. 

“Coffee, Pops?” 

“Hmm? Sure, why not,” Zenigata turned to look at the gunman, who had draped a hand towel over the kettle’s handle and was pouring it into a French press. His eyes relaxed and unfocused slightly as he stared at the steaming water kick up the coffee grounds, the black, ashy substance floating around as the glass of the French press steamed up with the sudden heat. Jigen reached up to open one of the cabinets above, scrabbling slightly at the edge due to his lack of nails. Eventually, when he did open it, Zenigata’s cup theory had been perfectly correct, and he grabbed two mismatched mugs from the very top shelf, having to go on tippy-toe for a moment or two before bringing them down. One was a simple ceramic orange mug, autumn-colored and nicely rounded. The other, however, was a silly cow shape, with a little ring going through a pink painted nose and horns peeking out over the top of the mug. 

“Jigen,” Zenigata warned softly, causing the gunman to laugh out loud, a very gruff and, if one didn’t know him well enough almost, mean-sounding noise. Zenigata, however, knew his intentions were good, and that he couldn’t help his naturally harsh laughter.

“Oh, come _on,_ Pops, don’t you think it’s cute?” He snickered, turning to face Zenigata, who held back a little giggle himself. “Don’t worry, it’s not for you anyways. This is my favorite mug,” 

“Didn’t know you were such a dork,” Zenigata chuckled, arching an eyebrow. 

“Hey, hey, hey, I can still blow your brains out so watch your mouth,” the gunman replied lightheartedly. The two shared a moment of unfamiliar comfort, and for just a second, it seemed as though they had been friends for quite some time. During this lovely little pocket of calmness, Jigen’s deft fingers lifted the lid of the French press and pushed it down into the container, moving slowly and deliberately as to not spill the hot contents within. 

Zenigata was given coffee in the orange mug, as promised, and it was way too strong and incredibly bitter but somehow just hit the _spot._ It was piping hot and immediately warmed his chest and stomach, the steam curling onto his face and flushing his cheeks. Together, he and Jigen sat in silence around the circular table, not really needing to say anything to one another, sipping their coffee.

This was okay, the inspector thought. He could handle this. He just had to stay here for a little while longer, and then he would hit the road and finish his recovery elsewhere. Who knows, he might even be able to continue his ever-lasting hunt for Lupin while he did so! No matter the case, though, he felt himself grow more and more okay with the idea of holing up in Lupin’s Provencal cottage for a little while longer. It was gorgeous and homey and classic, and there was still much he needed to explore, _definitely_ including the outside. Plus, Jigen and Goemon were being perfectly nice, although he had to admit, it was a little strange to be across from the gunman and _not_ have to duck beneath the closest thing he could find in order to avoid a pinpoint blast from the man’s beloved Magnum. 

Outside, as the rain thundered on, there was another sound to mix in. It was a rumble, constant and slow, followed by the crunch of gravel and the tell-tale honk of a horn. The inspector looked up, coffee cup halfway to his lips, only to find that Jigen’s expression had shifted from a serene, resting one, to that of a sly grin. Zenigata blinked owlishly. 

“About time,” the gunman huffed from across the circular table, taking a fairly large gulp of his pungent coffee. 

And then, almost as if planned to correspond with Jigen’s words, the sound of the front door swinging open made Zenigata flinch, and shoes clunked off in the entryway. 

“Helloooooo!” Called a familiar voice, and Zenigata looked up with wide eyes, as a familiar figure walked cheerily into the kitchen, dark hair slightly damp, smile a mile wide. His warm brown gaze locked with the inspector’s and his expression shifted slightly, his smile dropping for a split second, eyes softening greatly. 

Zenigata released a breath that he had no idea he had been holding, and his lips moved seemingly of their own accord. 

“Lupin.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by al bowlly and the thrift store lamps in my house


	4. a gesture all too sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin comes back to the cottage and explains to Jigen, Goemon and Zenigata where he had been. The inspector is completely taken aback to learn just why he was gone for such a lengthy period of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my brain, constantly at any given time: (jigen voice) major league yabahos  
> my brain, immediately after, a little quieter: (lupin voice) _jigen_

“Pops!” Lupin exclaimed giddily as he strolled deeper into the kitchen. “Glad to see you up and about, for a minute there you really had me at the edge of my seat!”

“Hey,” was all Zenigata could manage, unsure of why he was so surprised to see the owner of the cottage standing right in the kitchen. Jigen smiled up at his boss, tipping his hat back, offering the damp thief his mug with a kind of comfort that only existed between married couples and lifelong partners in crime that could practically read each other like open picture books. 

Lupin gladly took the childish-looking cow mug in his stiffened fingers, hopping up onto the table with grace as he took a sip. He leaned back on his free hand, and Zenigata saw how it shivered ever so slightly due to the chill of the rain. The thief handed the mug back to Jigen, who took it back gingerly, careful not to drop it and spill hot liquid and broken glass across the floor and tabletop. 

“So, is my chateau to your liking, my dearest inspector?” Lupin all but purred the words, turning to face Zenigata and grin slyly, batting his eyes in mock shyness. Jigen, unseen behind Lupin’s back, scoffed from the other side of the table. 

“...It’s lovely,” Zenigata said after a beat, unsure of whether or not he should joke or be serious. The lack of spunk in his tone seemed to visibly deflate the monkey-faced thief, and he frowned slightly, breaking his goofball persona for just a moment or two before his lips curled at the end and there was a glint in his eye all over again. 

“Oh, you flatter me. You know most of this stuff is stolen, yeah?” 

“Trust me, I’ve already spotted a few those goods,” Zenigata flushed and turned away, a litte upset that  _ this  _ of all things was getting to him. He had sworn to himself he would try not to get snippy with Lupin but it was so damned  _ difficult  _ when all that man ever did was push buttons! The first thing he did when he entered the cottage was immediately start to bother Zenigata! No question of how he was, no explanation for where he had been all this time, just instant rapid-fire annoying quips! The inspector really did want to be on his best behavior as a sort of thanks to Lupin’s generosity but… God, that little dumbass could be so annoying sometimes. 

“Ohhhohhoh, I forget, you’re a man of the  _ law,”  _ Lupin winked, teasing. “I’m terribly sorry, mister policeman sir, I’ll turn myself in right this instant!” His voice raised a few octaves, mocking a girlish tone, and he held his wrists out in front of him. 

“Careful, Lupin. Sure, he’s a little banged up, but I’m pretty sure you’re gonna get your ass beat if you keep talking like a little shit,” Jigen laughed, taking another sizeable gulp that drained the coffee from his well-loved cow mug. Zenigata rolled his eyes. 

He placed his own orange mug on the table, not really in the mood to deal with whatever was going on with the thief while he was still in a little pain. When the weather cleared and the sunshine and scent of the meadow made him all drunk with pleasantness, maybe then he would let Lupin bother him a bit. But right now? He just felt… Annoyed, sure, but there was something else there. Something that ran a little deeper, that felt a little too strange to be rooted to anger.

So Zenigata stood up, his chair groaning against the white tile of the kitchen floor. Lupin’s face dropped for what had to have been the third time since he had arrived, and just like the other times, it was quick and barely noticeable. Something about  _ that  _ got much further underneath the inspector’s skin than any of the teasing, and he was fairly excited to bounce from the scene, to leave Lupin’s presence. It was a strange, awful feeling, and he ached to be rid of it almost as badly as he ached to be rid of the pain in his side. 

Absently, his fingers brushed over the wound, bandaged and cleaned from where it lay hidden beneath his undershirt, and the inspector reminded himself grimly that it would leave quite an ugly scar on his abdomen.

_ Almost. _

“Where’re you going so soon, Pops? I only just got back, didn’t you miss me?” Lupin pouted, crossing his arms across his chest like a child who didn’t get his way, huffing exaggeratedly through his teeth.

“Well, I really think I’d better stay in bed for now,” Zenigata grumbled back. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome,” 

“Oh, you won’t!” 

“I still need to focus on getting better so I can catch you,” 

Lupin’s gaze softened ever so slightly, and Jigen tilted his head back to look at the inspector. The mood from earlier had changed upon Lupin’s arrival, and everybody in the room could sense it. A sort of tenseness lingered in the air, not quite so thick, but enough to be noticeable and make everybody present actively a little uncomfortable. Zenigata didn’t know whether he had caused such a feeling, or if the thief’s immediate teasing dampened the atmosphere, but either way, there was no remorse to be had from his end if he decided to rid himself of Lupin and Jigen’s company for the rest of the day. So, with that, the inspector turned to leave, shuffling his socks against across the tile of the kitchen floor, holding his side without really thinking about it and just about to step into the sitting room. He only got two steps in, not even reaching the large, plush rug before he was stopped by none other than Goemon, whose gaze penetrated him and stopped him in his tracks.

The samurai peeked into the kitchen from over Zenigata’s shoulder, blinking a few times, head tilted, before he ushered the both of them to the circular table. 

“Hold on a moment before you return to your bed,” he stated in that steady, serene voice of his, one hand pressed firmly against Zenigata’s shoulderblade. The touch didn’t really hurt, per se, but it was powerful enough to leave no room for argument. Lupin beamed at his left-hand man. 

“Goemon, hi!” He grinned, a twinkle in his eye as he pulled out a chair for the samurai to sit in. “Back together again at last!” He crowed, sliding from the table into a chair of his own, pulling his knees up to his chest and fishing in his jacket for a cigarette that he wouldn’t be able to light. Goemon shot him a glare that made him slowly slide the smoke back into his pocket, a sheepish little smile on his face, eyes pleading. “Still won’t let me smoke inside, I see? Strict as ever. And in my own place!” The thief threw up his hands, but Goemon simply crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair. 

From the corner of his eye, Zenigata managed to catch a private little glimpse shared between the gunman and the samurai as he reluctantly sunk back into his chair, not given much of an option.

There was a moment where nobody said anything, and Zenigata found himself taking great interest in his cuticles, awkwardly pressing the pad of his thumb against his nails as his leg bounced up and down anxiously. His eyes shifted from person to person, uncertain as to  _ why  _ in the hell he was feeling so nervous. Something about the thought of a group discussion with Lupin and the rest of his thieving pals just seemed way too alien for the inspector, and despite having a fairly easy time making small talk and pleasantries with both Goemon and Jigen, he found it increasingly difficult to even look their boss in the eye. 

“Where’s Fujicakes?” Lupin asked suddenly, blinking stupidly at the occupants of the table, chin resting atop his knees with his head tilted in a puppydog-like manner. The term of endearment he had for the femme fatale rolled easily off of his tongue, used almost as much as her real name. 

“She took off to Marseille yesterday,” Jigen explained gruffly. “said she didn’t want to stay caged up in your stinky old barnhouse,” he smirked, his eyes flashing from beneath his hat. 

“Hey!” Lupin gasped, frowning. “She would never say something like that,” 

Goemon’s eyes drew half-lidded and he raised his eyebrows, looking away and opting not to say anything. Zenigata could see the smile that Jigen attempted to hide behind his hand, pretending to lean forward and rest his chin in his palm. 

“Ugh, whatever! You guys’re no help,” Lupin grumbled, letting out a small  _ humph!  _ before turning to face Zenigata with playfully sharp eyes. “no matter, I suppose; I’ll just let bygones be bygones, and you  _ know  _ I can’t be mad at my dearest Fujicakes for too long,” he waggled his eyebrows, and the inspector wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that. So he just looked away. Lupin huffed again. 

“You’re getting distracted, Lupin, it’s time for you to spill your guts!” Jigen said abruptly, and Zenigata was grateful that the man had managed to draw the little thief’s attention away from himself.

“Oh! Right!” Lupin said suddenly, untangling himself and placing his feet to the floor, leaning forward and lacing his thin fingers together on the oaken tabletop. He cleared his throat dramatically, closing his eyes as he tilted his chin up with a look of self-importance. Zenigata rolled his eyes. “Well!” He clapped his hands together once, standing up from his seat to rummage about in the cabinets. “As you  _ fine  _ gentlemen know,” he shot Zenigata a wink, and, in return, the inspector waved him off with a look of annoyance. “I have been gone for quite some time. I feel like you deserve to know wh-- ah, Goemon, do you want coffee?” Lupin stopped himself mid-sentence, pausing with a cartoonish look on his face. God, that man’s brain worked at a million miles a second. 

“None for me, thanks, but if there’s any hot water left I would appreciate if you would steep some tea for me,” Goemon replied. “I think jasmine would be nice if we have any left,” 

“We’ve got plenty. Anyways, as I was saying, I think you all deserve to know where the hell I was and what I was doing at the very least since you’ve all had such great patience,” his tone was very matter-of-fact, business-like, but altogether cheery as he busied his hands, pouring himself a steaming cup of joe and placing a dark tea bag inside of a simple, white clay cup, before filling it with piping hot water. Steam curled up off of the surface and settled in tendrils around the air, thick and almost opaque. The restless thief padded over to the refrigerator and swung it open, bending at the waist to pull out a carton of heavy hazelnut flavored creamer for his coffee. He splashed a decent amount in and pranced back over to the table, holding the two mugs near the top as to not burn the tips of his fingers. He only spilled a little bit of hot water onto the tabletop as he placed Goemon’s steeping tea in front of him. 

“So,” Jigen began, arching his eyebrow. Zenigata sipped at his coffee, which had cooled down significantly since Lupin had arrived. 

“So!” Lupin replied genially, turning the chair around as he sat down so that the spine of it bumped against the table, and his legs straddled the top of it, stretching out at either side a little awkwardly, reminding the inspector vaguely of a starfish. “When I dropped you lot off at the cottage, I didn’t even stop to take even the slightest bit of a break. I was off again like  _ that,”  _ he snapped his fingers for dramatic flair, “hopping right along to the scene of the crime all over again. Quite the trip!” Lupin’s eyebrows shot up as he took a steady, careful sip of his still-hot coffee. He hissed a bit, and Zenigata suspected that he had burned the roof of his mouth.

“Anyways, so here I am,” he continued, “I’ve got the golden statuette in this little knapsack type deal, and there are about a gazillion guards surrounding this primpy old guy’s house. His wife was an absolute  _ mess,  _ fretting and fussing around like a little deranged mayfly; I definitely managed to ruffle her feathers most of all when it comes to panic.” He gave himself a little self-satisfied grin. “The water was a little too hot for me to jump right in and start repairing things, so I decided to rent out a shabby, ugly little number in this half-abandoned motel just east of the filthy rich bastard’s place. Let me tell you guys: if I ever complain about having you two as roommates ever again,” he gestured casually with his free hand at Goemon and Jigen, who just barely perked up at the mention of their roles, “I want you to shoot me. Living with cockroaches for a few solid days has really taught me to be grateful that I’m with two actual people that don’t scuttle around inside of my refrigerator and crawl on my face at night!” 

Zenigata couldn’t help the disgusted noise that forced itself out of his lips. He gawked at Lupin incredulously, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. “One  _ crawled on your face?!”  _ He asked, efficiently interrupting the thief, whose expression shifted into one to compete with the cat that finally ate the canary, obviously very pleased with himself that he had managed to reel the inspector in. 

“Yyyyyup,” he drew out the word for emphasis, nodding his head up in down in a great, big gesture. “I woke up and shrieked my head off. I had to wash my face three times just to forget about that rank stench!” He grimaced at the memory, and Jigen chuckled from where he sat on his side of the table. “Anywho, so I was stuck in that God-awful joint for a little while before things finally started to clear up with the police. 

Mr. Martin, the guy who I stole from, was beyond pissed at you, Pops, for playing the hero and shoving me aside when one of his men tried to fire at me. He has this great big hunch that you’re one of my henchmen, and you’ve only  _ pretended  _ to chase me for so long,” Lupin continued, his hands waving about conversationally as he spoke. Many times, seeing as the table was so small, his fingers brushed ever so lightly against the skin of Zenigata’s shoulder. “I kind of understood where he came from, seeing as this isn’t the first time you’ve saved my ass.” His expression softened to one of gratitude as he caught the inspector’s eye, the sweetest of smiles curling onto his lips as he spoke, a gaze all too tender for Zenigata to hold and he looked away quickly, hoping to God that his face didn’t look as warm as it felt. “I had to go clear that up, though, because he was already ordering some guys around to find you and have you terminated from your position. I had to throw on a really quick, slutty, police-woman disguise to convince him to hold off for a few days, promising him something that I’m not entirely sure that I should have if he didn’t go after good ole Pops, here.”

“Ew, Lupin! You whore! Only Fujiko fucks old men,” Jigen groaned and threw his head back, sweeping his arms to the side ‘til they hovered, free-fall style, to either side of his body. He dropped his head back down, wrapping Lupin up in a stern stare. Meanwhile, Zenigata could hear Goemon suppressing quiet, reserved laughter, his shoulders shaking just the slightest bit. 

“ _ I DIDN’T PROMISE THAT!”  _ Lupin fired back, cheeks burning cherry bright, visibly flustered that his partner would even  _ think  _ of the notion that he’d offer sex to this creep. “I meant money, Jigen, fuck!” He sunk back into his jacket, bristling. “ _ Anyways,  _ if you would let me speak! God,” he shook his head, sighing. “I had to dress like a slutty cop and  _ offer him cash”  _ he shot Jigen a dirty look “in exchange for his hold off on sending some of his goons after Pops. The commissioner was real pissed, too, and he was actually about to start a new case file for you,” he gestured to Zenigata, who stiffened. A bead of sweat formed on his brow, and he looked at Lupin with concern clouding his vision. 

“Y-you don’t mean that he-- he’s  _ after  _ me?” He sputtered, tripping clumsily over his words, panic quickly rising from the depths of his gut and settling somewhere near his sternum.

“Don’t worry so much, Pops,” Lupin pressed a reassuring hand on Zenigata’s shoulder. His palm was warm, a little calloused from his rough and tumble line of work, but this didn’t take away the solicitous way the touch warmed the skin beneath it. “I wouldn’t let them do that to ya. Which drives me to my next point, which is an apology to you two,” he removed his hand, and Zenigata hated himself to admit that he missed the comfort of human contact. 

“Apology?” Goemon asked softly, arching a thin, black brow. 

“Yeah. You see, in order to get both the police  _ and  _ the old fart off of Pops’ case, I had to disguise myself as another officer, this time not as sexy, and… well,” he shrugged, not looking quite as sorry as he said he was. 

“Spit it out,” Jigen huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“I had to return the statue,” 

“What?!” Both the gunman and samurai exclaimed, to which Lupin held up a finger and waggled it at them. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” He scolded softly, winking at them with a quirk of his lips. “I didn’t leave empty-handed, though! There was another piece of work in the guy’s home, not quite  _ as  _ extravagant as that statue, but pretty good all the same. His wife is a major jewelry snob, and I just managed to nab a few of the fattest diamond rings I’ve ever seen. I even went through the courtesy of replacing them with counterfeits so they wouldn’t be onto me!” 

“Lupin,” Zenigata growled, snapping his attention to the thief, who was waving him off dismissively. 

“Come on, Pops, I’ve got a chronic case of sticky fingers and you damn well know it!” He turned back to face his two friends. “Sorry that we lost the big fish, fellas, but I hope you’re able to accept the minnows that I managed to nab,”

Jigen visibly deflated, and he nodded his head, content at the swap. Goemon looked calmer as well, allowing himself to relax back in his seat. He took a steady sip of his tea, blowing on it first for a few moments. 

“Anyways, Pops, the commissioner thinks that you’re still after me, but he’s still a little suspicious. Might have to lay low for a little while until everybody cools down, they’re still a little peeved that you rescued me,” 

Zenigata huffed, not really processing all of the information that had just been dumped upon him. “I didn’t rescue you,” he stated firmly, furrowing his brow and frowning deeply. “I just did the right thing, the commissioner  _ knows  _ how I feel about killing people. Sure, you’re a thief, Lupin, but, as much as you piss me off, I still don’t think you deserve the death penalty.” He tried to keep his voice calm, steady, and firm, hoping not to let any sort of softness show through. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally make friends with his destined rival, which would only make it that much  _ harder  _ to arrest the little monkey. He already had a tough enough time as it was, always hesitating at the last moment, always silently rooting for the infamous thief.

He knew it was wrong. He knew, as an enforcer of the law, that it was his duty to keep justice and peace. But sometimes he just  _ couldn’t,  _ and he could hardly deny that he didn’t hate the chase, even when Lupin inevitably managed to slip through his fingers all over again. It was one of his greatest shames, and he despised his very being for having such a soft, irresponsible heart when it came to Lupin. But something about him… 

That was just it. Something about him. Zenigata hadn’t the faintest notion as to  _ what  _ the fuck that something was, but by God, it was there. 

\---

Zenigata had spent the rest of the day exploring the remainder of the cottage, sometimes escorted by Lupin, who acted as his own personal tour guide. He was a very hands-on guy, often leading the inspector with his arms wrapped ‘round his shoulders or fingers lightly brushing his shoulders to direct him in a certain way. He would crack small, quiet jokes, and do that little curl of his lips when pleased with himself. His eyes glittered and sparkled as he showed off his living arrangements, making Zenigata run his fingers across every plush, well-loved blanket, over every antique wooden surface, through every fluttering curtain (each one, the inspector noticed, a different pattern and color. All of the curtains in this house were quaint and fluttering and charmingly strange and added a touch of character that was so very  _ Lupin  _ that he truly had no idea if it could have belonged to anybody else). With the thief at his side, Zenigata managed to soak in most of what the little old building had to offer, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but be in awe by the sheer simplicity of it all, the comfort, the complete familiar and homey touch this secret lair of Lupin’s carried. 

He was shown the backyard, which consisted of a vast vegetable garden, little wooden stakes labeling patches of enticingly juicy heirloom tomatoes and crisp sugar snap peas, cucumbers and jalapenos and big, fat bell peppers, among many other varieties of veggies. The two stood in the threshold as Zenigata took it all in, the storm continuing to roll out across the sky, rain drenching the soil and rolling off the leaves of the vegetables with a kind of ethereal grace. It was enchanting. 

When nightfall finally made its appearance, and the sun was replaced with the moon, nobody was able to tell. It was still far too stormy, clouds still too thick and dark in the sky to be able to see anything. 

Zenigata had just recently taken the most heavenly bath of his entire life and was sitting, smelling of sweetpea and covered in a big, thick sweatshirt and checkered pyjama bottoms, on top of his cozy bed. He sunk back into the sheets, letting the pillows caress his tired shoulders and support his aching spine, listening to the late-night podcasts from a dusty, antique radio he had found tucked away in some long-forgotten corner of the room. It crackled ever so slightly, and it was a little hard to search for channels, but other than that, it worked like a charm. 

“...I believe the storm should give in to some much-needed sunshine very soon,” one of the hosts hummed genially, voice tinny due to the radio. Zenigata closed his eyes. 

“That’s what the forecasts are saying! My wife and I definitely need some pleasant weather, we’d like to go picnicking soon,” the other host laughed, a full, jovial, belly-deep sound. It was lighthearted and casual, and he spoke softly afterward, voice ever so slightly affected by his chuckling. “I’ll have plenty of yard work to do after this, that’s for sure.” 

The two men continued merrily, and the inspector wondered absently just how on earth they had managed to make a living by having public conversations. They weren’t discussing the recent news or the goings-on of popular celebrities; they weren’t even deep in conversation about a recent heist from an up-and-coming criminal, which was something Zenigata was quite used to, as he often tried to combine his work life and personal life by listening to the current happenings of different thieves around the world.

“Hey,” 

The voice was crystal clear and a little brash, definitely not the calming, heavily accented sound of the two gentlemen on the radio. Zenigata opened his eyes and was met with the sight of Lupin the Third, dressed to the nines in boxers and an undershirt, holding two, steaming hot mugs of something that smelled nice, standing timidly in his doorway, sheepish smile stretching across his lips. 

“Lupin,” Zenigata greeted, a little softer than he had intended. The thief took this as an invitation to come in, and did just that, closing the door behind him as he inched towards the inspector’s bed, holding out one of the beverages to him. “What is this?” He asked, taking the mug gingerly from Lupin’s waiting hands. 

“Cocoa,” the thief replied quite simply as he casually (yet carefully as to not spill his own hot chocolate) slid onto the bed, sitting in front of Zenigata with his legs crossed and his eyes twinkling just as softly as the glow-in-the-dark star stickers that clung to the walls and ceiling. “I made it from scratch. My mom’s recipe,” he commented as Zenigata took a sip. 

It was good. Like, really, actually good. The chocolate-to-milk ratio was perfect, not too heavy, but just strong enough to where it didn’t taste watered down. There was a hint of vanilla, which only added to the heavenly smell wafting up from the mug. It warmed the inspector from the tip of his toes to the crown of his head, and he closed his eyes softly. It was, like much of this strange place, oddly familiar and homey. 

“‘S nice,” he said to Lupin after a while, realizing he had to speak. Lupin glowed. 

“I knew you’d like it,” he all but cooed. “I’m the best at making this,” he added with a charming little wink. Zenigata rolled his eyes, whatever tension he thought was there fading away with the easy way the two were talking.

There was a moment where the two of them simply listened to the hosts on the podcast, discussing something about the beautiful meadows this time of year, sharing their appreciation and gratefulness for the art of jam-making and how this was the perfect time to preserve vegetables. There was much loving talk of children going on break, wives enjoying themselves and families and friends alike planning parties together to celebrate the warm spring holiday. 

In that time, Zenigata found himself looking over Lupin every now and then, eyes soaking up the details of his wiry body. Scars lining his arms and legs, one pink, raised patch of flesh stretching across his left clavicle. His fingers bore them as well, white and looking as though they were sewn on, wrong against his peachy skin. His forearms were quite hairy, the same with his calves and shins and knuckles and--well, all of him, really. It really tied into the whole “monkey-chic” thing that the inspector saw in the thief.

Another strange thing he noticed was how absolutely serene Lupin looked. 

He was an entertainer, often not knowing how to pause and relax,  _ always  _ having to please everybody around him, whether it be through incredible stories or witty jokes. He was always so eager to make people smile, to make them laugh. 

But right now, he was just… Sitting. Still and quiet, shoulders sagging ever so slightly, closing his eyes softly every time he leaned in to take a sip of his cocoa, sighing occasionally as he traced his thumb absently over the patterns of the patchwork blanket. No fidgeting, no spastic laughter or snarky comments. And something about how calm and comfortable he was made the inspector feel the exact  _ opposite,  _ and he was absolutely disgusted at the way his stomach flopped when he and Lupin made eye contact and the thief passed him a shimmering starry-eyed smile. 

“Listen,” he said quickly, trying to break their all-too comfortable silence. 

“Mmm?” Lupin replied, sipping at his cocoa and tilting his head to the side. His eyes were way too warm. 

“I-- well, I… Lupin, you-- I mean. Well.” he began, stammering hideously as he tried to wrench the right words out of his gut. Finally, he took a deep breath, ignoring Lupin’s gentle giggles that made him crinkle his nose and eyes at the corners in the endearing way that it did. “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he settled, sighing ever so gently as he spoke. “I know that you know that I’m able to take care of myself, so you really shouldn’t have gone through all of that trouble,” 

“Oh, but Pops, I wanted to,” Lupin said instantly, not having to pause and think about what he wanted to say for even a second (which made Zenigata feel  _ very  _ self-conscious). “I’m not the type of person to rub the blame on somebody else-- you know this. I may be a thief and a scoundrel and a dog but at least I’m honest about it!” He took a moment to laugh sweetly at Zenigata’s wide eyes. “And besides, it’s the very least I can do after you… Well, after you saved me. I know, I know,” Lupin held up his hand, shaking his head when Zenigata opened his mouth to protest. “you didn’t  _ mean  _ to save me, you were just doing what you thought was right. But, to me, it just seems like you really helped me out.” 

His expression faltered for a moment, and before the inspector could get his two cents in, Lupin was talking again. 

“You know, I feel pretty bad about it, actually. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt on my account,” he spoke softly, looking up at Zenigata from beneath guilty lashes. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly, no trick to it.

Zenigata was utterly flabbergasted, not really expecting an apology from the thief. 

“You’ve done enough for me already,” he managed to choke out, cheeks flushing a light, dusty rose. “so we can call it even now, okay? I don’t like that guilt-stricken face you’re wearing, Lupin, it looks awful on you,” he smiled gently in his best attempt at comfort. 

“I guess,” was all the thief said, before letting out a great, big, sleepy sigh. “I’m glad you’re okay though, for real,” 

“Awe, Lupin, cut the sappy stuff, come on. You’re embarrassing me,” 

“But I  _ am! _ Honest! Come on Pops, let somebody worry about you for a little while!” 

Zenigata simply laughed at this, knitting his eyebrows together and shaking his head as he took a bigger drink of his cooling hot chocolate. 

As the night wore on, the two radio hosts’ voices were growing sleepier and sleepier. And the rain was pounding against the house. And Lupin and Zenigata, cocoa emptied from their mugs (which were now placed atop the bedside table), were laughing and talking quietly, swapping old memories and new stories and catching up like old friends. They leaned into one another as they laughed, swatted each other’s arms for emphasis when telling a particularly hilarious anecdote, and slipped into occasional patches of quiet, ones that left Zenigata feeling far too warm and far too safe in the presence of his arch-nemesis. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on god this quarantine is making me so bored im about to go make small talk with the raccoons in my attic


	5. the kitchen window and the tinny sound of édith piaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another rainy day spent inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unrelated but i bet my entire digestive system that jigen takes goemon on dates to bass pro shop
> 
> also sorry about another late chapter!! i was actually almost finished with this. hours ago. but i decided to take a quick nap and asked somebody to wake me up :'-) i was never woken up.

When Lupin had bid a very sleepy Zenigata goodnight, taking their mugs with gentle  _ clinks  _ of glass and exiting the bedroom so quietly that the rain drowned the sound of his footsteps out, the inspector found that he had enjoyed… whatever  _ that  _ was… far too much. He fell back into his sheets, feeling queasy and overwhelmed, mind racing all too fast and fingers endlessly poking around at any stray thread on the patchwork blanket. He groaned as he tossed and turned the rest of the night, exhausted, sure, but at the same time, more awake than he had ever been. The  _ simplicity  _ of the gesture was so very out of character for Lupin, and it made him wonder if these were the thief’s true colors. But… but that just couldn’t be possible. Surely this soft-spoken, starry-eyed man wasn’t the one Zenigata had been chasing after for  _ years. _

...Right? 

Lupin’s sugar-spun voice repeated itself in Zenigata’s head even when he  _ did _ finally manage to drift off into a restless sleep. Although this was bad in itself, the worst part of it came from the fact that none of what clung to the poor inspector’s tired brain held any actual importance or relevance whatsoever. No, it was always the silliest, most common little tidbits. Him interrupting himself to ask if Goemon wanted coffee, the soft but noticeable (to Zenigata, at least) little noises he would make during conversations, the sudden lilt that drew itself from his voice every time his lips curled into that shit-eating grin and he would tease Zenigata with his dumb little nickname. The way his tone would soften when he was being honest, and how loud he was when he had laughed entering the cottage, shivering and wet in the places his umbrella could not protect him.

Zenigata woke up that morning and could already tell that there were dark circles beneath his eyes, heavy and slightly purple as though they were fresh, tender bruises. His head felt heavy and his side felt worse than before-- though, he thought grimly, maybe he was just imagining being in more pain in order to distract himself from his awful, terrible thought process that had kept him awake a majority of his night. 

As he shuffled gently beneath the covers, sitting up, he noticed that it was still raining. The curtains were parted, revealing the window as it was streaked with droplets of fast-falling water. He believed that, somewhere between the easy conversation of last night, he had heard the radio claim that this damp weather would last just a little bit longer before succumbing to sunshine and crystal skies. 

This was definitely good news, as Zenigata had never seen the fields or the barn in the distance or the garden or any other part of the cottage in the springtime light. He had only been exposed to what the bathroom and his quaint little window had to offer during his first week at the safehouse, and was far too weak and fatigued to explore further. A silly, immature excitement bubbled up in his chest, and he smiled from where he sat propped up on the pillows, remembering the cowbells he was so dearly curious about and fully prepared to  _ finally  _ see the herd of docile creatures as they grazed in the emerald fields of tall, ever-growing grass.

The inspector sighed, sinking lower into his throne of goose-feather cushions, eyelids drooping halfway as he concentrated on the constant, heavy thrum of rain as it pitter-pattered against the window. The discomfort of staying had come when Lupin had entered, but he just couldn’t place his finger on it as to  _ why.  _ Was it the fact that he had been chasing the thief around in an endless game of cat and mouse for years, and now, right when he’s closest and Lupin is  _ insanely  _ vulnerable (well, as far as Zenigata knew, anyway), he can’t lay a finger on him? Or maybe, he considered, it was because of this strange, new dynamic between them? No running, no chasing. No arrests, no heists. Not Lupin the Third and not Inspector Zenigata, ICPO agent… but, instead, Ars ène and Koichi. Two people, regular as ever, with no roles to serve. 

The realization that Zenigata truly knew  _ nothing  _ whatsoever about Lupin hit him with all of the force of a freight train. Yes, he knew the  _ thief  _ Lupin-- he knew his strategies and style, body language and how he chose his words. knew his morals, codes, all of his teammates, his gadgets and gizmos and what type of hideout he enjoyed to stick around in but, until now… it had never occurred to the inspector that the man beneath the great thief was a complete, utter stranger to him.

He chewed on this thought for a while, pondering if the Lupin he had talked to late last night was the real one or just a persona put on to ease Zenigata into a calmer state. Maybe this was just an elaborate scheme, but he knew that such a man as Lupin--  _ gentleman thief,  _ mind you-- wouldn’t ever do such a cold-blooded thing. If he had saved Zenigata and said that he was going to protect him until things cleared up, he was going to do just that. Lupin was a lot of things, but he was no liar, and definitely not the type of person to back out of promises. 

A sudden crack of thunder that shook the window panes and jostled Zenigata to his very core managed to force the spooked inspector’s train of thought to jump the rails. He just sat, wide-eyed and frozen, muscles tensed and mentally prepared to evacuate if needed, before logic coaxed him down, reminding him that it was stormy out. There was  _ obviously  _ going to be thunder, no doubt about it. 

Amidst all of this odd, unwelcome stress due to the clamor outside and the thoughts of Lupin, Zenigata managed to realize just how absolutely silly this whole thing really was. This was the guy he’d been after for  _ years _ , for Christ’s sake! There was no reason to be skittish around him! The inspector shook his head at his idiocy, allowing a small smile to touch his lips as he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. 

The room was chilly, he noted as he stretched, gooseflesh erecting on a patch of skin that was exposed when his sweatshirt rode up. He quickly placed his arms back down, pulling the fabric over himself to escape the nippy temperature, hissing slightly at the cold. He hugged himself as he shuffled to the window, looking out over the view that he had a feeling that he would never quite be able to get over. 

It was the same as yesterday: same meadow, same yard, same barn and farmer’s house in the distance, same downpour of rain that fell from the same clouds and left the same, ethereal glimmer across the same emerald green rows of rippling grass. But its magical quality was powerful-- beautiful and nostalgic but never before seen. It left the inspector feeling quite content with his current situation. Perhaps if he got shot more often, Lupin would let him stay in this dream of a cottage for longer. 

He turned on his heel, padding to the door with the speed of a very determined snail. There was no rush. He had nowhere to be, nobody to arrest. And besides, all of this high pressure caused by the rain was making his side ache with sharp, steady pains. As he opened the door, he wondered absently whether the rain would always hurt this much.

Upon swinging the creaky, rain-swollen door open (once again having to bump into it several times with his hip just to get the damned thing to budge), Zenigata was just barely met with the welcome sound of music, though where it was coming from was unknown for now. He perked up, stepping out of his room and peeking around the long hallway, wondering if perhaps one of the closed doors was emitting such sweet sounds.

He made his way along the row, pressing his ear gingerly to each wooden frame, unable to shake the feeling in his gut that he was doing something wrong. Like snooping. 

Which he  _ was,  _ but in his defense… 

He had no defense. He was just snooping. 

When he leaned up to one door, the one that sat catty-corner to the window at the end of the hall, he  _ did  _ manage to hear something, though it wasn’t anything that he would have ever expected. It wasn’t the music he had originally been looking for but… voices? 

They were muffled and soft, and he could barely make out anything either of the people in the room was trying to say. But there were definitely two of them, and they were definitely men, and one of them  _ definitely  _ sounded-- well, on second thought,  _ both  _ of them sounded familiar. 

And then, so soft that if he had taken a breath that very moment he wouldn’t have heard it, came a gentle murmur. “... _ why, silly Daisuke, of course, I do...”  _ it said, achingly tender and spoken with such vulnerability that Zenigata immediately knew that this conversation was absolutely, under no circumstance, anybody’s business but the two sitting behind the worn yellow door. 

So, quietly and forcing himself not to listen any further, he snuck away from the door with slow, deliberate shuffles, careful to stick close to the walls as to avoid the hardwood floors creaking from under his weight. 

As he descended the stairs, the music grew steadily louder, and he realized that it was seeping from the kitchen, crinkly and choked full of static due to the use of what sounded like an old, used cassette player radio. The inspector, now on the last step of the stairs, took a moment to privately enjoy the view the sitting room had to offer. He had gotten a nice, good look at it a few days ago, but it still never ceased to amaze him and fill him with familiar warmth when his eyes swept across the antique furniture and stolen works of oil-paint art. 

He made his way to the kitchen, noticing the warmth emanating from it, soothing the biting chill that had pushed its icy fingers beneath his sweatshirt and around his ankles, whispering at the back of his neck and biting at his ears and nose. The cottage, as he had come to learn, had no central heating system for… whatever shitty reason. What it  _ did  _ have, however, were several space heaters, though some of them had puttered out and broken down long, long ago. 

When Zenigata stepped into the threshold that separated the sweet little kitchen from the cozy sitting room, he stopped short at the scene laid out before him.

The oven was on, kettle perched atop one of the grills, blue flame licking the bottom of its subtly rusted base. The French press was already laden with dark coffee grounds, and there was a large, eggshell white plate decorated with blue goats and an intricate, graceful pattern of the same shade. Heaped onto this plate were several pieces of toast, and a jar of strawberry jam (it didn’t look storebought; the label was obviously handmade, neat, beautiful, cursive handwriting looping around itself as it boasted of the jar’s delicious contents) waiting to be opened right next to it. 

The old radio player sat tucked away in a cozy little nook neat the back of the countertop, plugged into a yellowing socket on the wall, the mixtape inside whirring and clicking around as a love song from the 1920s spilled from its speakers. Paired with the drone of rain and the sound of somebody humming, the music created the perfect atmosphere of sweet tranquility. 

Zenigata realized the source of the humming was coming from none other than Lupin, who was simply in a big, white tee-shirt and striped pyjama pants (along with a pair of grey socks), but somehow managed to look like an angel in the warm glow of the kitchen’s lamps. He was wearing an apron, white with peach frills to line the bottom and shoulder straps, the words “Kiss the Cook” spread in neat cursive across his chest. Hair slightly mussed, eyes bleary and still soft from sleep, he swayed in a gentle slow dance with himself as he hummed along to Charles Hart’s  _ Are You Lonesome Tonight.  _

The whole scene was so alluring and vulnerable that Zenigata felt his heart seize in the back of his throat, and for just a slow, painstaking second, he believed he might just cough the damn thing up and have it fall, beating eagerly, right at the thief’s dancing feet. 

“You’re awake!” 

Like many, many other times, Zenigata was pulled out of his own head by Lupin’s loud, cheery voice. Though today, much like the night before, it wasn’t as mocking as it usually was. It was just… his voice. That was it. No teasing, no poking or prodding at Zenigata’s already heavily bruised ego, but just him, chipper and sweet and looking celestial in his pyjamas. 

“Hello? Earth to Pops!” The inspector stepped back, not realizing that he had been staring until Lupin was  _ right there  _ in front of him. “What’s with that look on your face? Never seen a man in an apron before, hmm?” He poked an accusatory finger to Zenigata’s chest, who sputtered and fumbled with his words for a good solid moment before he was actually able to string together a coherent sentence. 

“Sorry. I just woke up, I’m still a little out of it,” he chuckled sheepishly, and the answer was good enough for the thief, who backed away and returned to his previous task. Which was, apparently, washing dishes in the sink. 

“I’m only teasin’, Pops, ‘s okay,” he laughed, pulling on a pair of thick, yellow rubber gloves. “I decided to be nice today and make breakfast. Otherwise, you’d all be left to fend for yourselves,” he gestured to the plate of toast, and Zenigata reached to pluck a slice from the top. “speaking of which, where are the rest of you?” He asked, turning on his shoulder to face the inspector, who was spreading jam over his soon-to-be breakfast. He stopped mid-spread, though, when he remembered Goemon and Jigen speaking softly to one another, most definitely discussing something romantic and intimate. 

“Uhh, I think they’re still in their rooms,” he mumbled quickly, a little ashamed that he overheard a bit of their conversation. 

“Rooms? Plural? Please, I know for a fact Goemon sneaks into Jigen’s in the middle of the night!” Lupin smirked and Zenigata looked up at him with a shocked expression painted across his face. “Oh, those stupid lovebirds. They don’t appreciate me or my efforts,” the thief dramatically slapped the back of a sudsy gloved hand to his forehead, fluttering his lashes theatrically as Zenigata stared at him, jaw hanging open. Lupin blinked after a beat of silence, peeking over at the inspector with pursed lips. 

“They…?” Was all Zenigata could manage. “ _ Really?!”  _

“I thought it was obvious,” 

“No! Those two are probably the most stoic guys I’ve ever met, and I’ve never seen any hints that would lead to me realizing that they’re a couple!” The inspector was gobsmacked as he leaned against the counter, taking a bite of his toast. The jam was  _ spectacular.  _ As he chewed, he wondered if it was from the farm out in the distance. Lupin laughed out loud as he scrubbed at a plate. 

“God, I thought you were supposed to be a detective or something! You’re clueless! You mean to tell me you’ve  _ never  _ seen how those two cozy up next to one another? Those little  _ looks  _ that they throw each other’s way, the hands brushing, shoulders always bumping when they walk? How they seem to have entire fucking conversations without saying a single word?” Lupin sounded overjoyed at the poor inspector’s oblivious nature, lips curling into his classic, Cheshire smile. A few soap bubbles floated past Zenigata’s head. 

“Okay, so maybe I haven’t noticed any of that, but  _ still!  _ I’m surprised Jigen was even open to that idea,” 

“What, you mean dating another man?” Lupin snorted. 

“No, I mean  _ dating.  _ I genuinely thought he just hated everybody he’s ever met,” after another fairly large bite of toast, Zenigata noticed that his piece was burned, charred black bits of bread sprinkling onto the tile below. 

“Him? Jigen? No,” a bowl that the thief was currently washing slipped from his hands and landed back into the warm, soapy water with a splash, sending droplets flying all over Lupin’s face and over the front of his apron. “I know he  _ seems  _ really mean and cold and emotionless, but he’s nothing but a big softie. Trust me on this one,” 

And so he did, not asking any further questions about the pair. Instead, he finished the rest of his toast and wiped the crumbs off on his pants (a habit that  _ everybody  _ has but nobody is willing to admit), and then took a deep breath because he realized that he was getting way too fucking comfortable here but  _ damn _ if it didn’t feel nice to be comfortable!

“Lupin,” he began with a small, sharp intake of breath. 

“Hmm?” Came the busybody thief’s reply. 

“Want me to help you with that?” 

Asking to help with chores had, for whatever reason, taken most of the wind out of Zenigata. But he was pleasantly surprised to find out how difficult working in tandem with the thief wasn’t. 

Lupin was happy to oblige, offering him a towel and a position next to him. As he scrubbed into plates from different sets and old, stolen silverware, mismatched bowls, and ceramic mugs, his elbow would often brush against Zenigata’s, who was carefully drying off each object, gently rotating each piece in his hand as he dabbled and rubbed the water away. When each dish was dry and sparkling clean, smelling vaguely of the citrus dish soap Lupin used, the inspector would place them in their respective piles atop the kitchen counter to be put away inside of drawers and cabinets later. Together, they worked like clockwork, developing a pace and rhythm and keeping both until all of the dishes were dried and neatly placed away and the sink sat satisfyingly empty with nothing but a few leftover suds settling in its basin. Zenigata had expected both of them to stop there but, just as easily as it had been to dry dishes, it was twenty times easier to get lost in simple chores. 

After the dishes were done, Lupin had vaguely mentioned the downstairs bathroom and sitting room, saying he was planning to spruce up a few lightbulbs, mop the bathroom floor, vacuum the big rug in the sitting room, simple, spring-cleaning type things that normally, on his own, Zenigata would forget about all too fast or just flat out not do them. But he found himself to be driven, wanting very much to offer his helping hand. Silently, he reasoned with himself that it was only because he felt compelled to after all of the kindness Lupin had given him. He knew that wasn’t right, though.

“Careful, careful!” Lupin yelped, wobbling back and forth as he sat perched atop Zeniata’s shoulders. The inspector had been perfectly still beneath him the entire time, and it was actually the thief that was losing balance, waving his arms about frantically, the butt end of a burnt-out lightbulb held fast between his clenched teeth and a new bulb screwed halfway into the bathroom light. Zenigata reached his hands up and patted around for Lupin’s waist, which he gently yet firmly held when it was found. 

“You’re fine,” he reassured the skittish thief with a little pat. “I’ve got you.”

There was a beat where Lupin was screwing in the bulb the rest of the way followed by a little grunt as he tried to turn it more, satisfied with how it didn’t budge. 

“You sure do,” he finally replied softly through the lightbulb as Zenigata stepped away and knelt down, helping Lupin off of his shoulders by allowing him to use his hands for leverage as he slid away, rather awkwardly, from the inspector’s body. When he was down, Zenigata straightened out, and it took him a moment to notice their hands still clasped together, Lupin having turned himself around to give him a sweet, doe-eyed expression, one he was not used to, one that had the power to make his knees feel a little weak. 

“Well,” he said quickly, flustering and trying not to be too noticeable when he dropped his hands to his side and looked away. He couldn’t possibly be  _ blushing,  _ could he? “where to next?” 

“Back to the kitchen,” Lupin chirped, taking the spent bulb from his mouth and inspecting it in his palm.

“To do what?” Zenigata asked, trailing after the other man the minute he began to walk back towards the small, yellow room. 

“I saved the easiest for last! While I sweep, you get to wipe down the table and countertop! Then we’ll be all finished,” 

“That’s it?” 

“Sure! Until we decide to clean again. Or maybe something messes the place up, which I doubt will happen; we all like to keep it kinda tidy around here. To, you know, pay respects to my grandfather. Keepin’ it clean in his honor,” 

“Respecting your ancestors, I get it,” Zenigata smiled privately, glad that he was behind Lupin. 

When the two got back into the kitchen, they set to work immediately. Lupin obtained his weapon-- a simple corn broom with long, yellow bristles and the standard wooden handle. Zenigata rummaged around in the cabinet beneath the sink, pushing bleach and extra bottles of dish soap out of his way until he managed to get his hands on a box of disinfectant wipes.  
They set to work immediately, Lupin turning the volume up to the radio (which was now merrily playing Fats Domino’s _Blueberry Hill),_ shimmying a little bit as he swept. The corn broom made a soft whooshing sound against the floor, and the inspector saw bits of dust and debris slowly begin to accumulate in a small pile as he began from one side of the countertop, wiping in circular motions until he was halfway across. 

Lupin’s hips followed the music, and he would offer a playful twirl every now and then, giggling and throwing a little unseen glimpse at Zenigata as he did so. He paraded around the broom, palm holding it steady at the top as, with long, silly strides he walked in circles around it. And then, he leaped into action, holding it in his long, nimble fingers as he swept (hah) it across the floor, no longer with the intention of cleaning but, rather, pretending to twirl and sway to and fro with it as though it were a cute girl in a stylish yellow dress and not… a stick with cornhusk bristles.

As he dipped and shimmied with his newfound dance partner, Zenigata couldn’t help but stare. His slender frame, so goofy and uncoordinated, what with long, spindly limbs and big hands and feet but so damned  _ graceful  _ that he found himself to be quite taken aback. But it wasn’t even his apparent skill of dancing with household cleaning items that made the inspector’s heart palpitate and his eyes grow wide as he stared at the thief with shooting stars and fireworks in each one of his dark pupils--no.

It was the genuine warmth of his smile. It was the way his nose wrinkled. The way his eyes crinkled at the corner  _ just  _ so. The way he would let out a little laugh when he stumbled and tripped over himself, the way he kept having to re-sweep several areas because his dumb dancing feet kept kicking up his piles of dust, the way how when he bent down to corral all of what he had swept up into a dustpan, he knocked his forehead against the handle of his broom and stumbled for a minute, giving out a loud, ugly laugh, snorting as he did so. How he absolutely unnecessarily  _ needed _ to dramatically lean backward, slender waist arching and chin tilting to the ceiling as his leg kicked up to add pizazz, to empty the dustpan into the garbage. His pure joy for such a mundane task. His silly antics. His… his…

Just…

_ Him.  _

Lupin occupied every crevice of Zenigata’s brain, though that wasn’t new in any sense at all. This time, though, it felt  _ different. _ Felt warm and strange and scary, yes, but also exciting. Sugar-spun and sweet, beautiful and incredible and oh so tempting. 

After several moments of silence had passed, the song having ended and the cassette player clicking momentarily, Zenigata found himself to be finished with his errand, placing his two used disinfectant wipes into the trash and putting the container of them back where they belonged beneath the sink. Lupin was placing the broom back in its own respective place (a little wedge between the cabinet and refrigerator, the dustpan quick to follow), when suddenly, without so much as a warning, he slowly turned to face the inspector. 

At first, Zenigata didn’t notice and was busy admiring their hard work: sparkling clean countertops, spick and span floors. Not even a spoon left sitting in the sink. Dishtowels freshly pressed and folded neatly, hanging from the handle on the oven, French press cleaned out and windows wiped down so fully that it almost looked as though the rain would pour directly into the quaint little room.

It was only when Lupin walked towards him gradually that he turned to catch the other man’s gaze. 

“Oohhhh,  _ Pops,”  _ Lupin purred dreamily, his expression far away and soft, the smile on his lips small and easy and so, deliciously beautiful. “listen, would ya?”

And so, the inspector listened. 

“I  _ love  _ this song,” Lupin continued, holding out his hands, fingers slowly creeping apart as his arms stretched out towards Zenigata, head tilting naturally to one side. The swing of trumpets, languid and full, sent thrills chasing up and down the inspector’s side. 

“Édith Piaf,” Zenigata said, his throat dry. “ _ La Vie en Rose.”  _ He finished with a hard swallow.

As if on cue, the husky, molasses smooth voice of the Frenchwoman began to warble in its fairytale way.

“Ohh, please,  _ please  _ come dance with me,” Lupin begged, walking closer and closer, bending his arms at the elbow until they weren’t stretched out to reach for Zenigata anymore but, rather, his forearms gently stuck out as to hold the much larger man in that stick-skinny embrace. 

“Lupin, I’ve got two left feet,” he said, though he was breathless and his eyes were wide and he found his body naturally leaning in closer to meet the thief halfway. He didn’t say a damned thing when he felt a warm hand direct one of his own to a bony shoulder, the other finding itself intertwined with long, thin fingers. Lupin’s free hand floated candidly to the inspector’s waist, whose breath hitched in his throat momentarily at the feather-light touch. “I can’t dance,” he tried again in one last feeble attempt to escape an embrace he never wanted to end. 

“Neither can I,” Lupin whispered. Thunder crashed outside. “Zenigata, didn’t you know that two wrongs make a right?” 

And with the use of his name, the dazed inspector found himself being led into a simple dance, their bodies pressed tight together as their feet shuffled languidly to and fro. He shifted when Lupin did, he turned when Lupin did, he moved further when Lupin did. It was all according to Lupin, and it felt so oddly wonderful to just  _ let  _ the thief direct him, to follow his lead as he pressed closer into the warmth of his chest. 

The entire time, their gazes were caught, Lupin’s holding a wistful, doe-eyed expression. 

Slowly, the thief directed Zenigata’s big, trembling hands to his waist, the inspector quite surprised that, seemingly of their own accord, they went the rest of the way and wrapped around him, fingers lacing at the small of his back. Lupin’s own arms snaked up around Zenigata’s neck, the two coming just that much closer with this new position. Lupin’s face was dangerously close. 

Their movements slowed, feet barely even inching back and forth as most of their movements were now simple rotations at the waist. 

“ _ Il est entré dans mon coeur, une part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause...”  _ Lupin cooed, his voice so sweet and soft as he sang that, if Zenigata had not been so close, he would never have heard. He ended the verse with a little giggle, pressing his nose to the juncture of Zenigata’s neck. The inspector could feel the way his lips buzzed ever so slightly as he hummed along to the tune. 

At that moment, as the rain continued to pound against to cottage’s walls and ceiling, and Piaf’s lilting voice sung gorgeously to the wails of the trumpets, and the inspector’s body was pressed so,  _ so _ close to the thief’s as the two danced slowly in the middle of the kitchen, Zenigata thought of kissing Lupin for neither the first nor last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the term "doe eyes" is so unbelievably romantic, i fall in love with it all over again every time i read or write it


	6. the new moon and the way your eyes look in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day spent in the grass and a night spent in the water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> started writing this at fucking 7 pee em and i am so sorry that i keep posting chapters so late at night!! i'll start earlier on the next chapter i promise you. this chapter in particular took especially long because my best friend kept distracting me!! so everyone go be mean to him
> 
> also!!! just wanted to say thank u so much for all of ur love and support on this incredibly self-indulgent fic, seriously every single comment sends me over the got damb moon 🥰🥰🥰 mwuah mwuah big kees from me to u!!! smooch!

For the next several days, Lupin and Zenigata fell into comfortable routine. Every morning, they would clean different parts of the house, dusting and sweeping and scrubbing until each room was fresh and wonderfully tidy. Music was always involved, and, of  _ course,  _ Lupin would choose the most romantic love songs, several in French, which he would sing with his lilting voice to the inspector with eyes like stars and lips like rose petals. And for that, Zenigata wanted to beat himself over the head with a very blunt object that would render him unconscious for many, many hours.

Every night, Lupin would shimmy into the inspector’s room with two mugs full of homemade hot cocoa, and the two would sit on Zenigata’s comfortable bed and talk, the old radio in the inspector’s room murmuring in its tinny, soft way, until one of them was so sleepy that they began to nod off, eyes droopy and smile dopey and sweet. 

They found that, with each passing night, they would scoot closer and closer on the mattress, until it came to the point where one fateful evening, when the thief gently slid into Zenigata’s room, he propped the mugs on the bedside table before pressing shoulder-to-shoulder with the other man, shimmying underneath the covers with him. That was when the inspector noticed that he always smelled like rosewater, and that was the morning that when Zenigata woke up to the sunlight gently kissing his eyelids, he realized he was not alone. 

And so, this was how it went. This was their routine, their own little dance as Zenigata continued to heal and things back home continued to clear up. Jigen and Goemon definitely noticed, and there was much teasing about how the two were acting like newlyweds, lovesick and doing absolutely  _ everything  _ together. Even Fujiko thought that something had…  _ happened  _ between them on the occasion that she came back from Marseilles, murmuring to Goemon questions whether or not they were dating or maybe even just friends with benefits. Lupin, on the chance that he caught her, would always shoot her a sharp look and accuse her of just wanting to tease the poor inspector, whose cheeks flushed a bright red every time the mention of he and Lupin’s little almost-domestic lifestyle was brought up. 

Other than the jokes and pokings and proddings from the rest of the Lupin gang, Zenigata was greatly enjoying all of the closeness he shared with the thief (he, of course, would  _ never  _ admit to that, but he knew in his heart that was just how he felt and there wasn’t much of anything he could do about it). It provided comfort for him that he never knew he needed, and whenever he would wake up with Lupin snuggled close, arm slung loosely around his chest as his nose nuzzled into the inspector’s neck, breath slow and heartbeat steady, he realized just how touchstarved he actually was. 

“You’ve all been cooped up in this house,” Lupin declared one morning with a clap of his hands as everybody sat sleepy and freshly awake around the little round table in the kitchen. “I’m going to go visit the sweet old lady who owns all of those jersey cows, and you’re coming with me!” He exclaimed, earning neither protest nor agreement from the tired bunch. 

“Lupin,” Jigen finally said after a while, hair mussed up, still in pyjamas. He wasn’t even wearing his hat, which sat somewhere in his (and Goemon’s? Zenigata still wasn’t clear of whether they shared or not) room, alongside his springtime suit which looked exactly the same as his winter and fall and summer one except the material was lighter and softer and perfect for the breezy, sunny Provencal days. “it’s too early to go anywhere.” 

“No, no, no! Not with that attitude!”

“We don’t have an option, do we?” Goemon asked, head pressed into his hand, elbow resting on the table. Jovially, Lupin shook his head with a big grin and glittery eyes. 

“Not even a little bit! Go change, you all look like shit!” The thief laughed softly as he leaned against the countertop, taking a sip of his coffee. Nobody moved. 

As it turned out, nobody would even begin to entertain the idea of leaving until several hours later, when, after breakfast and smoking out on the back porch (which Zenigata was surprised to be invited to by Jigen and Goemon) accompanied by a nice long conversation about absolutely nothing at all, everybody was in much higher spirits and feeling particularly affectionate towards the light breeze and warm, rich, kiss of the sun on their skin.

The day still didn’t go as planned, however, for Goemon and Jigen ditched the idea altogether and ended up driving to Marseille to have a nice, long night of drinking. Lupin, who was bitter and scowling, murmured about how they just wanted to have sex in a hotel room, which caused Zenigata to spit the lemonade he was drinking through his nose. This seemed to lift the thief’s mood significantly. 

“You know what? We don’t need them,” he crowed, leaning against the white cedar post on the porch out back. Zenigata sat two steps lower than him, resting his elbows against the wooden deck. His smile was all flowers and sunshine as he stared at the inspector who was bashfully wiping his face. “we’ll go somewhere on our own today.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Zenigata asked, arching his eyebrow and trying to play off the whole lemonade incident as something that did  _ not  _ happen. At all. 

“Yep! Maybe we won’t visit the farmer, wouldn’t want to disturb her or her cows, but there’s a lovely little pond just about a mile’s walk away. You need to stretch your legs, anyway, it’ll be good for your healing process,” he waved his hands about as he talked, thunking his head softly on the post as he rested against it.

“That  _ does  _ sound pretty nice, it’s so beautiful out here,” Zenigata said without looking at Lupin, instead focusing his gaze out to the backyard’s garden, which was laid out gorgeously before him.

“I’ll bring a big, fancy picnic, and you can carry blankets,” Lupin continued, as though he hadn’t heard Zenigata at all. He was already standing up, hands on his hips, a big, Lupin-esque grin plastered all over his face. 

“Fancy?” 

“Croissandwiches,” Lupin tossed over his shoulder at Zenigata as he entered the cottage through the screen door that lay behind the regular wooden one as to keep any bugs out. 

“Ah,” Zenigata smiled, standing up soon after he heard the screen door clatter shut, taking a deep breath of the fresh and fragrant air, rolling up his creamy white sleeves to his elbows as he stretched, the light, airy fabric puffing up around him when the breeze got caught inside of it.

He had long since abandoned his trenchcoat and hat, instead opting to wear either pyjamas (which consisted of a tank top and borrowed flannel pants) or something that Lupin offered from his relative’s closet. Because of that, he found himself wearing uncomfortably tight pants (because Lupin and his family were built like fucking  _ twigs)  _ and some sort of billowy, over-the-top, button-down shirt. Lupin had told him not to button any of them up all the way, exclaiming with this  _ look  _ in his eye just how sexy and fantastic Zenigata looked with the first three or four buttons undone so that the fabric ever so slightly slid down his boxy shoulders and revealed his clavicles. Zenigata had scoffed and rolled his eyes at the time, but later on, popped a few of the buttons and thought, with a small, shy smile, that he  _ did  _ look a little handsome in this new wardrobe. 

Once inside, Zenigata rummaged around his room and Lupin’s (the thief gave him permission, of course), trying to find a nice picnic blanket that nobody minded a few grass stains getting on. He didn’t find anything of interest in the rooms, but there did end up being a chest in one of the downstairs hallway’s closets, and upon opening it, the inspector was greeted with several extra sheets and downy soft comforters in beautiful, light colors. He didn’t think any of them were suitable, but Lupin happily explained otherwise and easily pulled out a fat, white and red checkered blanket. 

Before the two left, picnic all packed and blankets stuffed into a tattered old messenger bag Zenigata had found beneath Lupin’s bed, the thief turned and told him to bring the small radio in his room.

\---

“Hello, gorgeous,” Lupin’s voice was soft and full of childlike awe as he gently stroked the velvety snout of a jersey cow, her coat a rich, coffee brown; she was obviously well-loved and deeply cared for by her owner. Her eyes were big and brown and her ears flicked occasionally, tail swishing languidly behind her. She was fucking huge. “aren’t you just an angel?” The two had been walking for around twenty minutes, Lupin leading the way. They were already at their destination, in fact, and the thief had very happily pointed out a little grove of trees that surrounded a pond, which sat sparkling amidst a field of poppies and mayweed.

“Didn’t know you of all people had a special voice for animals,” Zenigata snorted, setting down his bag next to Lupin’s basket to join him. He approached slowly and waited ‘til Lupin drew his hand back to slowly hold up his own, hoping not to overwhelm the gentle giant. 

“Everybody does,” was Lupin’s simple reply. The cow drew her great nose up to the palm of the inspector’s hand and snuffed about for a moment. The skin around her nostrils was soft and her breath hot as she exhaled around Zenigata’s fingers. He smiled, genuine delight coursing through his body as he reached up to brush his palm along the length of her snout. 

“You  _ are _ gorgeous, aren’t you?” Zenigata couldn’t help but speak in a soft, reserved tone. “Just look at those  _ eyes _ ,” Lupin’s head fell heavily on his shoulder. 

“Just like yours,” he hummed, putting one thumb in his pocket. 

Zenigata chuckled, reaching to the side to stroke her cheek, while, at the same time, trying not to jostle Lupin as he leaned comfortably against the inspector. “Are you calling me a cow?” 

“No! Pops, not at all,” he laughed, using his free hand to gently pat Zenigata’s back. When had the two grown so  _ comfortable  _ with each other? “I’m saying you have cow  _ eyes--  _ all big and round and brown with the longest lashes I’ve ever seen. Gorgeous and warm and very fitting for somebody like you, I think,” 

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment,” 

“Well, I should hope so, dear Pops, seeing you haven’t acknowledged any of the others I’ve thrown your way,” Lupin teased, lifting his head to throw Zenigata a playful smirk, a glint in his eye that made the other man’s cheeks burn, and he had to turn away in hopes it being unnoticed. 

No such luck. 

“Inspector!” Lupin gasped,  _ overjoyed  _ at the discovery of how simple it was to make Zenigata fluster. “Pops. Oh my God. Turn to face me right now.  _ Please,”  _ he begged. The cow had stopped being pet, Zenigata needing both of his hands to shoo the persistent little weasel away.

“Fuck off, for once!” He sputtered, fully turning his back and quickly walking around Lupin, still keeping his face hidden, and scooping up both the basket and messenger bag in one fluid motion. 

“You’re blushing, you’re blushing, you’re blushing! Come  _ back  _ and let me see!” Lupin crowed, scurrying quickly to keep up with the quickly retreating inspector. 

“I’m  _ not,”  _

“Yes, you are! Stop running!” 

And it was only then that Zenigata noticed the fact that he was, indeed, running. He peeled off of the dirt road, letting out a bark of laughter that he hadn’t realized he was holding in, basket and bag jostling merrily at his sides. 

Lupin gave chase, and the inspector could hear him trampling through the tall grass behind him. They were both laughing at this point, loud and full of easy freedom, full of pent up excitement and long-forgotten joy. 

“The tables have turned!” Lupin screamed happily from somewhere close behind Zenigata, who was gaining on the pond. 

“How so?” He replied equally as loudly, his booming voice very nearly drowned out by the wind rushing past his ears as he ran. He found a soft patch of clover that sat beneath a willow tree, its branches so long and bowing so low that they very nearly kissed the earth. The minute he reached this spot, he hastily set the objects he was carrying down and broke off into a reckless sprint across the meadow. 

“ _ I’m  _ chasing  _ you,  _ now!” Lupin laughed, a sound like windchimes as he set about stumbling after Zenigata. “Except the only difference is that--” 

Zenigata cut a corner to throw the thief off, shoes kicking up dirt and a few indigo catchflies. However, Lupin’s reflexes were too quick, and he turned just as sharply, gaining rapidly on the other man. With a final lunge, the thief leaped on the inspector, and the two went tumbling down, Zenigata falling with an  _ oomph!  _ to his back and Lupin catching himself with his hands, which were firmly planted on either side of Zenigata’s head as he hovered over him.

Lupin’s face was red, eyes sparkling, mouth froze in a laughing smile. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, yellow tie drooping down and brushing against Zenigata’s chest. 

“--I’ll manage to catch you,” Lupin breathed, gaze flicking across Zenigata’s face with an expression that the inspector didn’t recognize. He was no longer smiling, and his lips were just barely parted, as though he were starstruck with some sort of realization. 

The inspector’s own eyes were wide, and he was completely and utterly gobsmacked. Winded and defenseless, on his back with Lupin half on top of him, he just lay in the bed of grass he had fallen into. Wildflowers brushed as his cheeks, and the greenery around him was so tall that it created a sort of tunnel around the two men. 

The sun shone behind Lupin’s head, shadow painted over his face as a white glow gleamed behind him. He was angelic. 

“Lupin...” he breathed, and it came out as a lilt which made the thief’s face noticeably brighten. Was he leaning a little bit closer? Zenigata could feel his heart thundering in his chest, on his neck, in his fingertips and toes. 

“Yes, Zenigata?” Lupin’s lips barely even moved as he spoke. He couldn’t possibly be tilting his head to one side, that just wasn’t even a thing he could  _ do  _ in this situation. It wasn’t. This wasn’t happening. Zenigata panicked fully at the use of his real name. 

“...get off of me, you monkey,” he finished, swallowing hard, a little smile curling around the edges of his mouth. Lupin fell back with a loud, overdramatic groan, flopping down on his back in the grass. 

“Oh my  _ God!”  _ He wailed, kicking his legs in a mock tantrum. “ _ Pops!”  _ He lifted his head, Zenigata already sitting up, laughing and snorting away. “You can’t do that,” he whined, eyebrows knitting together. 

“Do  _ what?”  _ The inspector asked. He genuinely had no idea what the thief had meant, though a little voice told him he knew  _ exactly  _ what he meant. This voice, however, was quickly shunned, as Zenigata knew that… he just… he knew that it couldn’t be true. Lupin was not going to kiss him, and he was not going to kiss Lupin, no matter how often he thought about it. 

Lupin did not answer. 

Instead, he scrambled up, Zenigata quick to follow, and the two walked to their picnicking spot, giggling and shoving into one another’s sides the whole way there, comfortable as ever as their shoulders pressed and bumped. 

Zenigata had chosen an incredible place to set their picnic up, he realized as he lay atop the checkered blanket. Lupin was sitting next to him, sipping a glass bottle of Snapple iced tea (apple, his preferred flavor), eyes closed, content. The sun shone through the willow’s drooping branches, whose leaves scattered dappled drops of light across the clovers, which were soft and smelled absolutely heavenly. The wind, perfumed by apple blossoms from a nearby orchard, rippled through the long, green grass, making the meadow before the pair look more like the ocean. Shoes and socks had long since been discarded, Lupin’s suit jacket off to the side as well, lumped in a little pile at the base of the tree. Little sparrows chirruped and chased one another in the romantic springtime breeze, the pond’s water lapping against its silt bank as the sound of cowbells and the occasional moo sounded in the pasture behind the serene couple. 

The inspector’s eyes fluttered closed, and he heard Lupin’s shuffling before he felt his hip bump against his shoulder. 

“Mmm?” Zenigata asked wordlessly, not even opening his eyes. 

“Just wanted to be a little closer,” Lupin’s voice was very soft, almost too quiet to hear. The inspector decided not to acknowledge this and, instead, enjoyed the comfortable silence that followed. The radio was on, and a man’s voice was reading off what the weather would be like for the next few days. Neither of the pair was really listening, though, and they had no idea whether it would be sunny or stormy or hot or cold or dry or wet. That didn’t matter, at the moment. Nothing did, except for the fact that the croissandwiches were wonderful and Zenigata’s lemonade refreshing and the grass smelled so sweet and Lupin’s hip was so warm.

Midday bled steadily into the afternoon, sky turning a smooth amber and clouds fat and puffy and a shade of frothy apricot as they floated lazily across the bright backdrop. At this point, the two men had placed their glasses and plates back inside of the basket and were simply lounging atop the softness of the blanket. 

Soon, afternoon gave way to twilight, the sliver of a crescent moon glowing against wine-purple hues and dark, deep navy. The stars were breathtaking, and Zenigata could make out every single one of them. 

With the rise of the moon, Lupin began to grow restless, his warm and sleepy demeanor quickly being shaken with the first breath of cool night air. He fiddled with the radio, often flicking through static and the most boring talk shows known to man until he realized his efforts were fruitless and he clicked back to the channel Zenigata had left it on for the past several nights. He shifted constantly, fiddling with his clothes until finally, he had had enough. 

“Let’s go for a swim,” he said matter-of-factly and without any room for argument. 

Zenigata looked up, a little taken aback. “I don’t have a swimsuit,” he said quite plainly. Lupin turned his nose up at him as he loosened his tie and the inspector (an inspector for a purpose) realized immediately where this was going. 

“We were born naked for a reason,” the thief chided, mustard yellow fabric of his tie sliding down his shoulders and piling at his feet as he began to work on the buttons of his dress shirt. 

“You can’t be serious… I could have you arrested for public nudity, you know,” Zenigata managed to choke out.

“Might as well add that to my charge of larceny,” 

“Lupin,” 

“Zenigata?” His shirt was now sliding off of his shoulders, bunching up around the crook of his forearm as his pale skin was exposed to the dark, breathtaking with little scars running along his ribs and waist and chest and shoulders. He was fairly hairy, too, from his chest to the trail that led to his… well, below his pants. 

There was no turning back for the thief, and by the time Zenigata had decided to try and speak again, he was hopping out of his pants quite clumsily, boxers revealing themselves as he shimmied and struggled. Those, however, were quick to go, being shucked off with expert speed, and Zenigata snapped his head away, face burning at the sight of Lupin’s bare ass. 

“ _ Dude,”  _ he managed to wheeze, a bead of sweat forming on his cheek. 

“Come on, nothing you haven’t seen before!” Lupin crowed. 

“What are you implying!” Zenigata yelled, whipping his head back around but quickly regretting his decision when he nearly bumped into Lupin’s naked thigh. “Oh my  _ GOD,  _ don’t stand so fucking close!” 

“Whaaaaat? Am I hideous to you, inspector, hmm? Are you repulsed by my naked form?” 

“Just go in the  _ water,  _ dammit! I don’t want to see your dick, Lupin,” 

“Are you sure?” A finger poked at the back of his head. 

No.

“ _ YES.”  _

With a peal of laughter and the sound of soft footsteps padding away from the blanket, Lupin was gone. Zenigata peeped one eye open, and just saw the back of the thief from where he sat on the blanket. Without warning, he broke out into a run, naked feet thumping against the dock as he leaped off the edge and into the water with a loud splash. For a moment, all was quiet, the water rippling and sparkling in what little light it had from the moon, before Lupin’s head popped up with a shriek. 

“IT’S SO FUCKING COLD!” He cried, splashing around frantically as Zenigata laughed, warm and comfortable from where he sat on the blanket. 

“It’s what you get!” He called to the floundering thief, standing up to be closer so that the two didn’t have to yell back and forth, stooping to pick up the radio as he did so. He hummed softly as he walked along the dock, sitting at the edge and dangling his legs over the side, feet dipping into the water. Lupin’s smile wasn’t exaggerated or silly or  _ anything _ other than soft. Genuine. Almost… affectionate, even. He swam over, the clear brown water lapping at his wet skin, and, with a small grunt, hoisted his upper half up using the dock. He folded his arms in front of him and rested his chin upon them, looking up sweetly at Zenigata. 

“Comfy?” The inspector snorted, though he returned the smile; he couldn’t help it.

“Very much so, actually,” Lupin chirped back, and the other man rolled his eyes with a huff. “I would be  _ more  _ comfortable, though, if you--”

“Don’t say it,” 

“--joined me. Come  _ on,  _ Pops! The water’s great!”

“You were just complaining about how cold it was!”

“Okay, sure, fine, but once you get used to it it’s really nice! After the initial shock, it’s actually very warm,” he laughed, and it was just barely even a little hum, a little chuckle. It set the poor inspector’s heart on fire.

“No way am I getting ass naked in front of you,” 

“It’s not like it’s the first time or anything,” 

“Lupin!” Zenigata huffed, the latter giggling deviously. “That was different!” 

“But how! 

“Don’t ask,”

“Fine.” 

For a moment, all was quiet, and neither of them said a word. But only for a moment. And a very short one, at that. For, after that moment had passed, Lupin was tugging at the fabric of Zenigata’s pants, whining about how boring it was to skinny dip alone. 

“Live a little, Pops! Break the law a bit!” He nagged, taking on a scolding tone as though Zenigata was refusing to do something required of him.

“No! I  _ am  _ the law!” The inspector shot back, brow furrowing. He wasn’t frustrated, though. Or annoyed. Or angry. Or anything other than a little shy of Lupin seeing his body. Other than that, he was feeling completely giddy, like he was a teenager again. 

“Please? Come on, get your pants off!”

“Don’t say that out loud!”

“I promise you it’s too dark to see anything!”

“Fine,” 

“The water covers you up enti--huh?” Lupin cut himself off, sliding back into the dark pond, blinking up with wide eyes. Zenigata couldn’t tell whether it was just the lack of light surrounding them, but it almost looked as though the thief was blushing. Only a little bit. But still enough to be noticeable. 

Zenigata stood, sheepishly pulling off his belt and letting it fall to the dock with a thump. He fiddled with his zipper next, surprised at how easy it was to comply with Lupin’s request. The more clothes he shed, in fact, the more he realized how much he didn’t care about breaking any rules or even standing naked in front of his rival. Friend? Whatever the hell Lupin was at this point.

“Hey, don’t watch me strip, you perv!” He yelped when he realized that Lupin had been staring with an awestruck gaze at him the entire time. His pants were already down, shirt currently coming off, and he was in nothing but his boxers, which were soon to be removed.

“Right, right! Sorry!”

“I’m not like  _ you _ , asshat, I have some dignity,”

“So do I! That’s why I’m not embarrassed to flash you my great butt,” Lupin laughed as Zenigata rolled his eyes, throwing him an absent  _ shut up, idiot  _ before squeezing his eyes shut and yanking his boxers down. It was weird and cold and he hated it for just a second. And then, for some strange reason, it was normal. And he was just standing on the dock, fully exposed, and Lupin was still not looking.

Carefully, as to not slip, he sat back down on the dock and slipped into the water, completely opposite to how Lupin had crashed in without a care in the world. 

It was cold, initially, but warmed up damn near instantly. The night was warm, the breeze was refreshing and light, and the water was neither too cold nor too warm, a perfect middle ground that was comfortable and pleasant around the inspector’s tired body. He swam to the middle of the pond, which wasn’t very far out at all (it was pretty small), stopping a few strokes behind Lupin, who turned around with a grin. 

“Hey!” He greeted sweetly as though Zenigata had just arrived. 

“You win, I’ll admit that this isn’t… totally awful. It’s almost nice, actually,” this was a lie. It was very nice. 

“See? I told you so!” Lupin hummed, falling back and tilting his head up towards the sky. “Wow, you can see all of the stars so perfectly! Sometimes I forget about them when I’m in the city,” 

“What, the stars? Yeah, I guess all of the light pollution would make it pretty difficult to remember that they’re there,” Zenigata swam over to the bank closest to Lupin, silt cool soft around his feet. 

“Being out here under this big gorgeous sky just reminds me how  _ small  _ I am, cliche as that sounds,” there was a small chuckle. 

“I get that way too, sometimes. When I’m chasing you and you lead us to some remote place in the middle of nowhere, I always get a nice big sense of insignificance,” 

“It’s not a bad thing, though,”

“No. It isn’t a bad thing,” the inspector agreed, leaving his spot to swim towards Lupin and gently splash him with water. He turned, and his smile was breathtaking. “it’s like this, in a sense,” 

“How do you mean?” 

With that, Zenigata flashed a smile of his own, and it was very shy and very out of character for someone who was naturally so loud and brash. “Almost nice,” he hummed his reply, which earned him a faceful of water. He laughed.

The two of them swam about until their fingers turned wrinkly as prunes and their lips began to fade from pink to blue. Now, they simply lay on the dock, naked and feeling very safe and very comfortable in the night air. 

Their hands were stretched out at their sides as they dried off, having to use the breeze as they hadn’t brought any towels along. Zenigata supposed they could have used the blanket, but he didn’t really want to ruin something so pretty. Their pinkies touched, and neither of them made a move to shift away.

Radio set to yet another calming podcast, stars blinking up above them, the atmosphere was safe and sweet and beautifully intimate, and that’s when Lupin whispered: 

“I think this is just the most incredible view I’ve ever seen,”

And Zenigata whispered back:

“Yeah, you’re right.”

But he would never know that Lupin was not looking at the sky or the trees or anything other than the inspector’s own face, still slightly damp, droplets of water clinging to his lashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been listening to nothing but oldie love songs from like. the 20s-50s for the past several days and its making me feel some type of way


	7. unspoken confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since their little escapade the day before, something has changed between Lupin and Zenigata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka a night in with the boys😌😌

Morning had come and gone, butter yellow sunlight sliding across Zenigata’s frame as he lay on top of his covers, still in a deep, comfortable sleep. The twitter of birds chirped to no audience, a peal of warm laughter from Jigen and Goemon had fallen upon deaf ears, and the call that breakfast had been prepared, along with fresh coffee, went completely ignored. 

It was only around midday that Zenigata’s eyes fluttered open, gaze taking a moment to adjust to the light that was pouring in from his window. He blinked, quite affected by his long rest, unsure of where he was for just the slightest moment. It was only when he looked upon the glow-in-the-dark stars and the stained glass wind chime and those ornate lace curtains that he remembered he was still in Lupin’s cottage. After a few more moments, his mind reminded him of everything that had happened the day before. 

The thief had dragged Zenigata out on a little day trip, and the two had walked, bumping shoulders and cracking jokes and stopping every now and then to soak up the sun. With a small tint of color rising to the inspector’s cheeks, he remembered how Lupin had chased him around the meadow, how he had almost looked like he was going to kiss him as the flowers and grass swayed about them in the perfumed spring breeze. How, later, his hip bumped so innocently against Zenigata’s shoulder as they shared a damn  _ picnic.  _ How, when twilight engulfed them in warmth, and they were both drunk off of the dark and the scent of nearby apple blossoms and the pure idea of excitement, of  _ each othe _ r, they skinny-dipped in the little pond they had stopped by before drying out on the dock, fingers brushing together, eyes locked with the stars.

It was strange. Surreal. The memory of it made Zenigata’s stomach churn and his heart pound mercilessly, his pulse threatening to flat out explode if grew any more flustered than he already was. Which, in all honesty, he thought to be damn near impossible.

...Until he tilted his head very slightly. 

There, eyelashes twitching slightly as he slowly woke, buried in the crook of Zenigata’s arm, was a very cozy Lupin. He was still wearing his clothes from last night, and, after a beat, the inspector realized that he was, too. 

His eyes opened just a sliver, and he smacked his lips a few times as he adjusted to his surroundings. It only took a little shift, a little nuzzle, before he was falling back asleep, arm reaching out to drape lazily around Zenigata’s chest. 

Sure, the two had slept together before. Sure, they had woken up plenty of times, limbs entwined, heads bumping, hearts beating in sync. But for some reason… it was different. It was so, so very different while being the exact same. The inspector couldn’t place his finger on it, and the thought scared him senseless. 

Despite his distress at being pinned beneath a dozing thief, Zenigata sat still and tried his best to get comfortable again. It would be rude to wake him up now, wouldn’t it? It was just common courtesy to let him sleep at this point. The entire situation, the inspector thought with a private chuckle, rather similar to when a dog falls asleep on you. Great fuzzy head in your lap, nostrils flaring as it snores softly, you don’t move a muscle as to not rouse the sweet animal from its rest. It’s just an unspoken rule, and the inspector assumed that it was the exact same for humans. 

His train of thought, however, was quickly derailed when he heard a little murmur from his side. He looked down, blinking owlishly, only to find himself nose to nose with Lupin. Eyes bleary, skin still warm and soft from sleep, mouth drawn into a small frown, almost a pout but not quite. 

“Pops?” He mumbled, his head drooping slightly as though it were the heaviest thing in the world. He was unbelievably cute. Which was such a strange thought, but Zenigata really couldn’t help thinking it. He swallowed hard. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he replied, unsure of whether or not he should panic or just let whatever was happening… happen. Lupin smiled sweetly, and, with great effort sat up. He stretched, back arching and arms raising above his head. A few joints cracked audibly. 

“Ah, I’m so sore,” Lupin complained, now sitting at the edge of the bed and stretching his arms with a little rumble in the back of his throat. “that little dip we took last night was a real workout!” 

“I guess,” 

“Did you sleep well? I know I did. Like a baby!” despite having  _ just  _ woken up, despite having just been so very peaceful and quiet, the thief was now chattering away, scooting across the bed to reach the window and opening it with a small grunt. “Wow! We slept for such a long time, it’s not even morning anymore. I guess that makes sense, though, since we were out ‘til what? Three in the morning? Four, maybe? It was a while. Do you think Goemon and Jigen already had breakfast?”

“...Do you ever shut up?” Zenigata furrowed his eyebrows, frowning slightly. It was mostly a joke.  _ Mostly.  _

“Awh, Pops, that’s mean,” Lupin swatted the inspector’s shoulder playfully. “of course I don’t,” 

“Figures,” 

“Hey! Never knew you were so grumpy when you woke up,” Lupin teased, and Zenigata couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his lips as the thief flopped down again next to him. For a minute, it seemed as though they had been doing this for years, and for a moment, Zenigata very nearly kissed Lupin-- just to wipe that little grin off of his face, if nothing else. 

He caught himself before he did it, though, a little mortified of how  _ easy  _ it would have been. Of how he would just need to lean in a few inches or so and then bam! Their lips would be locked. 

He wondered absently what Lupin would taste like. Maybe the Snapple iced tea he had drunk last night, maybe the waters of the pond. Perhaps, he had his own taste, something that would be light and sweet but a little rough, mixing with his preferred cigarette brand. 

“What?” Lupin asked before Zenigata could even realize he’d been staring quite intently at the thief’s lips. 

“Huh?” He quickly flicked his gaze back to Lupin’s, staring at him with the most idiotic expression he’d ever worn before. 

“What’s with that look on your face? This is the second time, Pops!” He laughed, a sound that was not unlike the tinkling of the stained glass wind chimes that were now rustling due to the open window letting the Provencal breeze in.

“There’s no  _ look!” _

“Sure there is! God, I’ll have to start bringing a mirror with me everywhere I go just so you can see your dumb fae,” 

“Now you’re just being mean,” 

The two were lying on their sides, so close that hot breath brushed tenderly across slightly parted lips. Lupin smelled sweet, like the grass and the flowers and the water from the pond. And he probably tasted like all of those wonderful things, too, Zenigata decided. 

“I’m starving,” Lupin said abruptly, sitting up with lightning speed. He couldn’t possibly be blushing, could he? 

That moment, that perfect opportunity was spoiled in such a way that Zenigata couldn’t help himself as he rolled onto his back and  _ laughed.  _ Really, actually, belly laughed, chest heaving, eyes stinging with tears. It really hurt. Like, a  _ lot.  _ His side was in an incredible amount of pain, but he just couldn’t stop. It was all just so absurd, so fucking  _ strange,  _ how could he not!

“Oh, God! This hurts so much!” He cried, snorting on accident, which for some reason was so hilarious that it sent him flying headfirst into another wave of giggles. 

“Pops!” Lupin exclaimed, but he was laughing too, yanking at the inspector’s shoulders. “Come on, stop that! you’ll pop a stitch,” 

“I’m--”  _ snort  _ “--trying!” Zenigata wailed, and his abs began to ache as he clutched at his middle and rolled onto his side, shoulders shaking violently. “Lupin, this is all your fault!”

“ _ My  _ fault?! How?!?”

“I-- I don’t know!” Zenigata was finally starting to come down from his laughing fit, breathing heavily and still trembling from giggles and chuckles. He took a deep breath, still not quite over himself, but found that it was easier to sit up without bursting out laughing.

“What the  _ fuck  _ was that?” Lupin asked, delighted. The inspector, however, could only shove his face away with a snort, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. For the first time that morning, he realized just how matted his hair felt, how his skin still carried the scent of pondwater and how there were grass stains along his forearms and cheek. A flower that he hadn’t seen before flitted to the ground from his hair, landing at his feet, red and small and delicate.

“I don’t know about you, but I feel awful. I’m covered in pond,” 

“Is this an invitation to bathe with you?” Lupin purred from where he was on the bed, flopping down onto his stomach and waggling his eyebrows at the inspector, who reddened and quickly turned away. “What?” Lupin whined, though there were undertones of a laugh beneath his initial brattiness. “It’s not like I haven’t seen everything before! What makes a bathtub different from a po--”

But, before he could finish the sentence, Zenigata had slammed the door and stepped out into the hallway, finding it impossible to hold back that childish, giddy grin that was sneaking onto his mouth. 

“You two are getting along quite well,” a voice from the end of the hall started the inspector so much that he jumped, turning quickly only to find himself pinned beneath Goemon’s dark eyes. He was smiling. 

“Er-- yes,” Zenigata stammered, awkwardly returning the expression to the best of his abilities. 

“I’m not surprised. You’ve been friends for quite a long time, without realizing it, you know. And something else, I believe, for a while as well. Even before we saved you, Inspector, you and Lupin were something else,” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The inspector blinked, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. Blush crept onto his cheeks, warm and unwelcome, and his palms grew sweaty; he couldn’t  _ possibly  _ mean…? 

Goemon shrugged, walking towards the staircase. As he passed the gobsmacked inspector, he offered him a light pat on the shoulder. 

“Lupin can be very clingy, you know, so try your best to shake him off when he gets too annoying!” He called easily as he trudged down the steps, wood creaking beneath the soles of his feet. 

Zenigata was utterly flabbergasted. Did he just…? He didn’t think…? He couldn’t! 

In a flurry of motion, Zenigata bumped the door behind him open, about to tell Lupin all about what the samurai had just said, and what the  _ hell  _ he  _ possibly  _ could’ve meant, but when he stumbled inside, flustered and tripping over his words, he was surprised to see the thief curled up in the blankets, holding tight to a pillow, breathing slow and steady as he just barely snored. Huh. Zenigata clicked the door softly shut as he exited the room once more. Lupin must’ve been really tired. 

The shower the inspector took was quick and cold. Normally, on such a lazy day, he would’ve indulged in a nice, hot bath, soaking his muscles and maybe even dozing off the slightest bit. However, Goemon had warned about getting his stitches wet, and since he already did a  _ lot  _ of that yesterday, he assumed that it would be best to simply jump in, rinse off, jump out. It was nice to scrub himself clean of any silt and sediment that still clung to his body, as well as pick all of the grass and dirt from his hair. There was a lot more than he had expected, and by the time he was done, he was pretty sure that he could have made an entire damned bouquet. 

He toweled off fairly quickly, feeling very refreshed and very clean, slipping into a grey cotton sweatshirt and another pair of flannel pyjama bottoms he had found with Lupin’s grandfather’s old things. He exited the bathroom, tossing his towel into the hamper before he left, stretching slightly to relieve himself of any remaining tension as he began to walk downstairs and toward the front door. Already, the day was slipping by quite quickly, especially seeing as the inspector had woken up so late. He didn’t mind too much, though-- he constantly had to remind himself that for a while, he had nothing to do. This was like his break.

It concerned him a little, of course, the matter of going home after his stay at the cottage was over. After he was healed up and able to comfortably chase the thief around, able to be useful to Interpol, how would his peers react to him? Did they think he had been abducted, or did they perhaps think he really  _ was  _ working alongside Lupin? 

Which brought him to the matter of how he was possibly going to arrest the little monkey  _ now  _ after all of this had happened. After he realized just how much he enjoyed spending time with the thief. It was ironic and unfair and unbelievably cruel that, out of all of the fantastic people in the world, Zenigata had to go and fall for the one he knew he couldn’t have. 

Of course, love like this always fades. It dies out eventually, after so many years of being unreciprocated, and it just pittles out. One day, he would be well over Lupin, because he knew for a fact that this was a one-sided romance, one that was bound to end the minute the two were off playing their never-ending game of cat and mouse. And that was a  _ good  _ thing. The thief never loving the inspector back, never feeling those feelings around the guys he had been running from forever… That was a good thing. It had to be. Because logic screamed that it would _ never  _ work, not in a million years. 

But sometimes, Zenigata thought with a sad sigh as he sunk onto the front steps of the verandah after swinging open the heavy wooden door that led to the front yard, the heart is much louder and much stronger than logic could ever hope to be. And the heart aches. And no matter how much logic there was, no matter how much Zenigata knew this type of thing could never happen, his foolish damned heart just couldn’t get over that silly thief, and so it continued to throb in his chest, begging for something both of them knew it could not have.

A playful breeze danced across his face, and he let his eyes flutter shut. It was growing a little cloudier, and the scent of a storm was not too far off. He would have to check the weather channel on his radio. His eyes peeled open as he gazed across at the field before him, the brown dots of jersey cows peacefully grazing in their ocean of emerald green. There were several flower pots and a little patch of a garden, long since abandoned and now riddled with clinging ivy and wild honeysuckle. The ivy climbed languidly up the red brick of the cottage holding tight to any nooks and crannies it could reach. Its leaves swayed hypnotically with the breeze, and Zenigata took a moment to remember all that was happening. It would be a distant memory pretty soon, but right now, he had it. He had the comfort of living a domestic life, something that he never knew he craved until this very moment. And he would miss it tremendously when he had to leave for home.

Behind him, the door creaked open, and he turned around to face a grinning, ecstatic Jigen. 

“We just found a big old box of shit in an attic we didn’t even know this place  _ had,”  _ he said happily, standing in the doorway. “you have to come look through some of this with us,” 

“Alright,” Zenigata said softly, standing up from where he sat. 

“Why do you look so surprised?” Jigen asked suddenly, and it took the inspector a moment to realize that he was, in fact, wearing a look of awe on his face. Why  _ did  _ he look so surprised? And, furthermore, why did he  _ feel  _ that way, too?

He knew, though. 

“Why are you being so good to me?” He asked before he could stop himself. Jigen paused a moment, not really sure how to reply. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, scratching the back of his neck and frowning gently. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find the right words, trying to find the right answer. And then, his expression softened, and he placed one hand on his hip, tilting his head slightly.

“You know that we’ve never disliked you, Pops-- especially Lupin. And  _ we _ know that  _ you’ve _ never disliked _ us,  _ either. It’s just circumstance that always causes us to yell and shoot at each other,” he said, his smile easy and his eyes kind as he tipped his head back to look at Zenigata. “so now that we’ve laid down all titles, now that we aren’t thieves and you aren’t a cop, it’s easy to get along. Do you get what I’m saying?” 

“You guys  _ don’t _ hate me?” Zenigata blurted before he could say anything half as heartwarming at what the gunman had told him. Jigen only laughed, though, turning on his heel and walking inside, not saying another word. With a smile, Zenigata followed, satisfied by his answer.

“Baby Lupin, baby Lupin!” Jigen exclaimed joyfully, pulling out an old, tattered photograph. On it was, in fact, a baby, chubby cheeks and pudgy fingers, drooling over what looked like a housekey. His ears were too big and his eyes even bigger, expression one of pure malice as his little tiny mouth was drawn into the closest thing a baby could get to a smirk. The three of them had dumped out the contents of the box and were currently rummaging around through old, long-forgotten photos and drawings and books from Lupin the First.

“Give that here,” Lupin (the third, the one here now) snapped, cheeks flushing red as he reached unsuccessfully for the gunman, who simply passed the photo to Goemon. The samurai looked over it, a smile forming on his face much to Lupin’s disdain. 

“How cute,” he teased, holding the photo behind his back when Lupin took another lunge. 

“And what do we have  _ here?”  _ Zenigata asked playfully, looking over the pile that the group had dumped onto the sitting room’s big, plush rug. The inspector pulled out a cream-colored envelope from beneath a bigger photo of a wedding scene that could have possibly been of Lupin the First and his wife. 

Lupin, who had been distracted by his baby photo, turned  _ sheet white  _ when he saw what the inspector held between his middle and index finger. 

“Pops,” he warned softly, eyes blowing wide. 

When Zenigata cracked the envelope open, he was instantly pummeled into the floor by a very determined thief but managed to pass the note to Jigen just in time as Lupin continued to wrestle the inspector into the rug. Jigen sprung up, quickly scurrying to the couch, socked feet pressing into the cushions as he held the apparent letter up high.

“ _ ‘Dear Adeline,’ _ oh, her name is Adeline? How pretty!” he began, delight filling his voice instantly as everyone seemed to understand simultaneously that what they had found was a love letter from Lupin’s youth. 

“Jigen you put that  _ down!”  _ Lupin cried, though he wasn’t able to do much, as Goemon had quickly assisted Zenigata in pinning the thief down. In a flash of movement, Lupin’s teeth sunk into the samurai’s arm, who barked and drew back, Lupin instantly leaping towards Jigen and toppling him to the floor. The letter flitted from out of the gunman’s hands, and directly into…

“ _ ‘I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever met.’ _ So forward!” Zenigata crowed, triumphantly holding the letter high above his head. The writing was scrabbly and barely legible and obviously made when the poor, humiliated thief was much, much younger. Goemon, standing behind him, continued. 

“ _ ‘Please date me, my grandfather is a very good thief, he can steal wedding rings for us.’ _ Lupin, you just sold out your most accomplished relative!” Goemon laughed. Lupin groaned, sinking into the couch, accepting his defeat as he buried his face into one of the saffron throw pillows. The entire house was ablaze with life and laughter as they took turns reading the poor, embarrassed thief’s awful love letter from many, many years ago. 

The pile of old bits and bobs had been rummaged through completely, the only real things of interest being the letter, a few old photos, and a small, golden locket with a faded picture of a jersey cow inside of it. There were quite a few stories to each and every one of the gadgets, and Lupin was happy to oblige in telling all of them. There was laughter filling every crevice of the sitting room, warm and comfortable and safe and something that none of the men had experienced in far too long. They laughed ‘til their sides hurt, and talked until the box of memories was long forgotten and they all shifted to get comfortable as they continued to talk for hours on end.

Jigen was deep in a squashy lounge chair, Goemon on the floor in front of him while Lupin and Zenigata took the couch, sitting (much to the inspector’s disappointment) on either side. The sun had gone down, and open windows revealed the songs of crickets as their humming and buzzing filled the air. The scent of petrichor was strong as it wafted into the cottage, and the spirits of everybody in the room were incredibly high. At this moment, Zenigata saw the world through a rose-tinted gaze, and his chest was warm and heavy and fuller than it had ever been before. 

“I think Goemon fell asleep,” Lupin snorted softly, eyes crinkling at the corners as everybody turned to look at the samurai. He sagged gently against the front of the chair, head lolling to the side, shoulder relaxed and eyes closed. His breath was even and steady and slow, dark strands of hair falling in silky strings over his pale face. Zenigata noticed how Jigen’s expression simply  _ melted, _ and he smiled to himself, suddenly understanding that the two were more than just a ‘thing.’

That was a look of love, he realized. Sculpted with deft, careful hands from years of working together, of surviving together. Of trust and friendship and late nights drinking and of tending to wounds, blood soaking into fingertips and skin and clothes, eyes fogging with tears as they kissed and lapped each other’s pain as though a mere kiss would take away years of ragged scar tissue. It was vulnerable and weak and yet, here it was, in two of the most beat down people the inspector had ever met, burning hot and dangerous to the touch but so… soft. 

“Let him,” Jigen said quietly, reaching behind him to take hold of a throw blanket, unfurling the teal knitted thing and tossing it gently over the other man. “he never gets to rest like this,” 

“I guess not,” Lupin said with a grin. That expression, the one the thief was wearing-- it held love, too. Lots of it. There was never an absence of love from that man. But it wasn’t the same. It was a love that had been built with the same foundation as Jigen and Goemon’s, yes, but it was entirely different. There was history in that love, sure, but that was simply all it was. Distant memories, none ever regretted, of late nights and timid confessions, kisses, and shots of whiskey, shared cigarettes, nights spent screaming and hollering just for the hell of it, loud enough to make a voice go silent the very next day. A love that faded from romance and sex but grew back a billion times stronger, a bond that was more than a friendship but a little less than a relationship. 

The three of them stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, Jigen finally nodding off around five AM. He had suddenly stopped talking in his gravelly, sleepy voice, and when the two others went to look at him, his head was leaning against his shoulder, limbs limp, body completely relaxed. By this point, all of the lights in the cottage had been turned off, save for a little oil lamp that sat in the middle of the sitting room, dim and warm and yellow and soft. There was a definite storm on the way, thunder rolling somewhere in the distance, a calming sound that made Zenigata’s lids fall halfway.

“You tired, Pops?” Lupin’s voice asked quietly as to not rouse the others. 

“Hmm? Yeah, just a little,” Zenigata answered, lips barely lifting into a sleepy smile. Lupin hummed in reply. 

“Me too. Just a bit, though,” he scooted a little closer on the couch. “budge over, the rain always makes it so damn cold,” 

“Of course,” the inspector chuckled softly, scooting towards the end of the couch and leaning in such a way that allowed Lupin to press into his shoulder, entire body sagging into his side as his head drooped heavily on Zenigata’s arm. The inspector didn’t realize he had wrapped his arm around the thief, hand cupping his waist, until he felt him take a small breath and his side rose and fell with it.

“Fujiko is going to check out how things are back at home,” he spoke quietly, as though if he were any louder, something would shatter. 

“Is she?” Came Zenigata’s rumbled reply. 

“Mhm. It’s nearly been a month, we’re pretty sure everything is a little clearer now. Especially since I haven’t been on any heists since I brought you here,” 

“None? At all? Even when you were gone all of those days?” 

“I mean, I  _ did  _ take those rings, but that was only to make up for giving back the statue. But other than that, nothing at all. I just wanted to make sure you would be safe, that’s it-- nothin’ to it,” Lupin chuckled, and Zenigata found himself squeezing the man just a little tighter. 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. I can handle myself,” 

“Come on now, Pops,” Lupin leaned into the embrace, humming comfortably as he did so. “remember what I said earlier? You need to let _ somebody _ worry about you. Since you clearly won’t do it yourself,”

“But I…” Zenigata swallowed hard, feeling his heart rate quicken just a little bit. “Lupin,” he began again, treading carefully over his words. “I don’t  _ need  _ anybody to worry about me. I’m perfectly capable, and--” 

“So were you perfectly capable when you were bleeding out in the alleyway, hm?” Lupin interrupted, swatting the inspector gently on the chest. “Or when you were vomiting in pain as Goemon fished out that bullet from your side? Or when you weren’t able to wake up for  _ days,  _ and even after that, kept having to take painkillers that practically doubled as horse tranquilizers? Zenigata, you weren’t okay. For a while, I really thought I had lost you,” 

“But I’m fine,” 

“Because you had somebody to worry about you. As much as you deny it, you just need to be taken care of sometimes, Pops,” Lupin’s voice was very quiet, and he was snuggling closer and closer, as though if he released his grip for even a second, Zenigata would fade away. The inspector gulped, fingers trembling at Lupin’s waist. “will you let me?” His head shifted, and Zenigata was too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“I--” he began, but couldn’t quite finish. Long fingers pressed against the side of his face, tilting it downward, and their eyes met. Zenigata took a deep, shaky breath. “--okay.” 

It felt nice to finally succumb to Lupin’s gentle hold, to finally be able to just let his bones rest and allow somebody to pick them up, to kiss his wounds the way that he so desperately longed for. 

“Okay?” Lupin smiled. 

“Okay,” Zenigata said again, his expression growing much softer than he had meant it to. And for a moment, just a split second, Lupin’s face was identical to the one Jigen had worn when he looked at Goemon asleep on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idc if this is out of character let zenigata hang out with jigen and goemon!!! let them be friends!!


	8. it takes four minutes to fall in love, but i've only seen you for three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heartbreaking realization that Lupin could never love a man such as Zenigata rattles the inspector to his very core

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thought of the phrase "thats just how the coochie crumbles" and i have NOT been able to stop thinking about it. i have been up since five this morning and that has been embedded in my skull

Waking up that fateful morning was more like a dream than anything else. Zenigata was still on the couch, slouching against the lip of it, eyes still adjusting to his surroundings. Jigen must have woken up to join Goemon, for the two were snuggled up on the rug, clutching each other beneath the knitted throw blanket, Jigen’s face buried in Goemon’s chest while the samurai’s thin fingers lay buried in the gunman’s mess of wild, dark hair. 

And then there was Lupin. 

He was no longer leaning against the inspector’s shoulder but, rather, curled up in his lap. His head rested heavily on Zenigata’s thighs, cheek slightly smooshed, arms folded to his sides, though his fingers were comfortably pressed into the side of his leg, holding them slightly as though he didn’t want the inspector to move. The rest of his body was in an almost fetal position, curled in on itself as Zenigata’s hand rested upon the bony swell of his hip. He looked so peaceful, so very divine despite his hair being ruffled and a small strand of drool clinging to the corner of his lips. He was just effortlessly beautiful, Zenigata decided; there was nothing he could do that would ever paint him unattractively. Surely, he couldn’t be human. 

But then there were the scars. Zenigata dared to reach up with his free hand and trace a little, white patch of flesh just above the knuckle of Lupin’s thumb, the damaged skin stretching in a nearly ring-like fashion around the digit. It was rough and raised just enough to be distinguishable from unharmed, smoother flesh. There was another scar, this one vertically running in a thin, white line down the bridge of Lupin’s nose. It wasn’t too long or very noticeable, but it was there, proof that something had hurt him, that something had actually dared to strike him. 

With remorse and hot, thick guilt pooling in the depths of Zenigata’s belly, he thought of all of the times he himself had tried to hurt Lupin. A small portion of those scars was from purposefully grazed shots, from warning slices with a small knife, from bare fists when Zenigata’s reckless knuckles would collide powerfully with the other man’s jaw and sent him reeling, crashing into something that would give him a big ugly cut (which would, obviously, turn into a bigger, uglier scar). Seeing Lupin asleep in his lap, so trusting and so serene, made the inspector want to never lay a finger on him again. It absolutely shattered his heart to bits to think that despite all of the times he had managed to lay a nice, solid hit on Lupin, be it with weapon or flesh and blood, the thief still felt comfortable enough to sleep so vulnerably close to him. 

With a sigh, so soft that it might as well have not existed, Zenigata brushed his finger along the length of Lupin’s nose, starting with the small, rounded tip and ending just between his eyebrows. It was a small, simple gesture, something that he would often see dog owners do to relax their canine companions, but he hoped it felt good for the thief nonetheless.

Suddenly, without so much as a warning or hint, a little murmur escaped Lupin’s slightly parted lips and the inspector froze as though his fight or flight instincts were kicking in. With widened eyes, he gazed down at the sleepy man, who shifted his body until his half-lidded eyes were pointed up, latching onto Zenigata’s own. 

“Pops,” he simpered, and that soft, dreamy expression from last night painted across his tired face. “good morning,”

“Did I wake you up?” Zenigata ignored the sweet greeting and instead shot straight to worry, brows furrowing as he quickly attempted to hide the fact that he had just been touching Lupin’s face. 

“Mmm, no, I’ve been in ‘n out of it for a few hours now,”

Zenigata flushed. He must’ve felt the inspector’s fingers brush against his hand and face-- oh God, he was probably weirded out now. There was no doubt that he was going to get up and leave with a little awkward chuckle and some half-baked excuse he could use to get away and get away  _ fast.  _ He probably wanted absolutely  _ nothing  _ to do with the inspector, which was understandable, as no man in his right mind would ever--

“I mostly woke up ‘cos you stopped, though,” 

What?

Lupin’s hand, languidly moving as though it were in a sea of molasses, found Zenigata’s own. With much effort, his soft fingers curled around the other’s and lifted, the inspector helping along and following his lead until his hand was hovering over the thief’s face. “keep doing what you were doing,” he mumbled, and a puff of hot breath hit Zenigata’s palm, sending thrills racing up and down his spine. “I loved it.” 

So Zenigata continued, mind wrapped up in the fact that he had said “loved” instead of “liked” or “enjoyed” as any other regular person would. And after a few moments of Lupin’s eyelids fluttering softly, remnants of a dopey smile still lingering on his pink lips, he was asleep again, breathing steady and slow.

It was… painful, to say the least, having to constantly be in the same house as Lupin the Third. Not because Zenigata was itching to arrest him, or because he was annoying or loud or a bad host but because everything he did was bathed in stunning glory, no matter  _ how  _ mundane and simple it may have been. 

With each and every curl of his calloused, long fingers, he could bring angels to their knees and tug at the strings of the poor, lovesick inspector’s heart. God save the absolute fool of a man if Lupin were to actually  _ smile  _ at him, his perfect, thin lips curling at the edge as his eyes began to glow softly, his body language shifting completely just because of a mere grin. It was enough to leave Zenigata breathless, enough to make him go weak at the knees. Enough to make him  _ hate  _ himself with every fiber of his being because he knew that one of those earth-rattling smiles could never hold the affection, the love for Zenigata that he so deeply yearned for. 

And the fact of the matter was: why should it? Why should the great, impenetrable Lupin  _ ever  _ look at someone so washed up as Zenigata? The man who lived mostly off of instant ramen, who was at least six years older and twenty times less attractive? He and Jigen were the same age, but he still didn’t have that ruggedly handsome quality about him, didn’t have the physique or facial hair or even damned personality to ever be considered anything other than grotesque in the eyes of someone like Lupin.

Zenigata thought of all of the people the thief went after: exquisite, gorgeous, busty women, and tall-dark-handsomes. 

Yeah. He could never even  _ dream  _ to live up to that. Not with his barrel chest or his soft, pudgy love handles that, no matter  _ how  _ hard he tried and how much he exercised, he was never able to shake, or his entire body being littered with a wasteland of scars, ranging from small to grotesquely large. Not with the shape of his face or the loud way he laughed or the way his voice was like gravel, unpleasant and all sharp edges with no charm whatsoever. 

Lupin was the bright joy of the sun and the mystical allure of the moon and the playful twinkling of every single star in the entire universe. He was the ocean and the earth and the way the air smelled before it rained. He was the highest mountain and the deepest valley and the first kiss of sun after winter. He was watermelon in the summertime the sound of laughter and he was long nights spent talking and falling in love.

He was Lupin the Third, most beautiful human being Zenigata had ever seen, and just how could he  _ ever  _ hope to gain the attention of someone like that? 

He knew his faults. He knew he was unattractive and loud and brash and he knew how difficult he could be to like-- he was in no way charismatic, always stumbling and tripping over his words in a way that wasn’t even endearing. He was embarrassing, and he knew this. Lupin did not need to be embarrassed. He didn’t  _ deserve  _ to be embarrassed. 

What he deserved was to have someone just as stunning and wonderful as him.

So. Not Zenigata. That was for damn sure.

\---

Today, like yesterday, was quiet and lazy and spent sitting about. Zenigata had taken a liking to the vegetable garden out back and found himself sprawled out beneath the ginormous, overgrown patch of tomatoes that was big enough to be a bush, clinging ivy and sprigs of thyme that had snuck over from their own patch helping to create something almost dome-like and comfortable in its privacy. Beneath the tomatoes lay soft clovers that were perfect to lie on, sweetly scented and damp with morning dew. The soil there was dark and healthy and smelled so nice, and it was a wonder that Zenigata hadn’t explored the gardens more. Although, he did feel a little bad that he was getting a nice yellow blouse and a pair of cuffed dress pants dirty with petals and earth.

He took a deep, steady breath, trying to shake off the deep feeling of  _ hurt  _ that had decided to settle in his gut from this morning. He knew how irrational he was being, how absolutely immature that he was to feel this way. It was completely uncalled for and he feared that soon, his thoughts may grow stronger and form into stupid actions that would cause this whole blanket of security to be ripped clean away and the comfort and trust he and the thief had shared would be erased. If something bad were to happen between the inspector and Lupin, the former would be the one to blame, and Zenigata really didn’t want to have to live with the guilt of ruining something that could have possibly been… a  _ friendship,  _ if nothing else, between the two rivals. 

He groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. Dammit! He couldn’t do this, not now! He  _ knew  _ how he got. He knew his mind would go blank and all he would be able to think about was this awful, nagging feeling. It’s just how he was, how he worked, he couldn’t help it. It was something that he would just have to keep working on, something to keep at bay. A leaf from the tomato plant above his head flitted down and landed gently on his forehead as he fluttered his eyes closed. 

Why was he so upset, anyway? He had been having a wonderful time the past several weeks-- sleeping in a soft, comfortable bed, eating hot meals at night, laughing and cooking and cleaning and not having to worry about his duties. Lupin was being so  _ nice,  _ too, with his soft touches and dreamy eyes and those charming little smiles he would toss the inspector’s way every time their gazes met. He had enjoyed the sights and sounds of the countryside, been able to take in the beauty of Provence without a single care in the world. 

So why was it now, all of a sudden, that he was feeling so terrible? 

Perhaps, he thought with a grimace, eyes opening slowly, it was because he had finally accepted the fact that he was hopelessly, head-over-heels, no turning back, in  _ love  _ with Lupin. That he was  _ so _ in love, in fact, that it made it hard to breathe sometimes, that it made his chest ache with an intensity that he never knew it could before. That it hurt a billion times worse than the gunshot wound.

When he was able to pretend he was just obsessed with catching the thief and putting him in prison-- which he was, at first-- it was easier to ignore all of the hurt that came with one-sided affections. To brush off the doubt and self-loathing that came with knowing that his…  _ feelings… _ would never be returned. 

The worst part, though-- and this caused Zenigata to be even angrier with himself-- the worst part was that all of this doubt and hatred at himself wasn’t Lupin’s fault. It never had been. In fact, if anything, the thief made him feel  _ wonderful.  _ Made him want to be a better person, made him want to do more and help more and  _ be  _ more. He’ll never forget how he felt when the two of them had skinny-dipped out in that lake, how he was so, unbelievably happy and relieved, how for just a moment, he felt like he was on top of the goddamned world because here he was, breaking his own rules, being bold and new and exciting with his favorite person on earth. 

All of this, all of what he felt right now, this sickening awful pit in the depths of his gut that left a powerful, bone-rattling ache in his chest… it was all him. Only now, with his newfound realization, every sour thought and negative emotion was rising to the surface from years of being tucked neatly away, hidden and ugly and secret. All his life, he figured that if he built his walls high enough, didn’t let his defenses down for anybody, he would be able to do his job quickly and efficiently and be satisfied with himself. And that, to him, was happiness. 

But he knew what happiness was. He knew what it  _ really _ ,  _ truly _ was. 

It was the tiny, tiny fist of his baby daughter curling ‘round his index finger for the very first time before everything went downhill with his marriage. It was that time when he had been driving for  _ hours  _ one night many years ago and he pulled over at the side of the road to rest and he saw every single star pouring out from the desert sky. It was when he had gone out with the few friends that he had made long ago, ribs aching with laughter as they chattered and drank and danced all night.

It was the way Lupin leaned into his body the day the two of them had danced to  _ La Vie en Rose  _ in the kitchen. 

It was anything  _ but  _ what he had been doing. And now, he would have to go back to his life of fake happiness, of chasing somebody he wanted to kiss, of lying down in an uncomfortable bed alone in cheap, crummy hotel beds and wishing that sleep would come easier. 

He looked in the gaps of the tomato plant at the taupe grey sky, glimpsing the darkening clouds as the rolled by and by. It was quite a rainy springtime for Provence, though perhaps that was for the best. It would lead to more summer wildflowers and thicker pastures and happier cows. 

“Pops,” the sound of Lupin’s voice from above made Zenigata yelp audibly, sitting up and getting his face tangled in the wiry vines of the clinging ivy and the fat stems of the tomato plant. 

“Jesus, Lupin! Don’t scare me like that!” He huffed as the other laughed, crawling into the little hidey-hole. Zenigata scooted over to make room on the clover, and Lupin lay on his back, arm pressing against the inspector’s, head leaning so that it oh so gently made contact with the other’s. 

“Sorry,” he smiled, though his tone suggested that he wasn’t at all. “what’re you doing down here?” 

Zenigata took a moment to think of a suitable answer. “Thinking,” he finally said with the slightest hint of a frown. 

“Wow, that’s new,” 

“Oh, shut up,” 

“You know I’m teasin’!” Lupin giggled, momentarily squeezing Zenigata’s hand with his own, letting it go as quickly as he had grabbed it. His hands were warm and they were soft. That awful, aching feeling came crashing back and the inspector stiffened. “Anything, in particular, that’s on your mind?” Lupin continued sweetly, and Zenigata found himself to be sweating. 

“N-no, I don’t think so,”

“You don’t think so? How’s that?” 

“You sound like my middle school therapist,” the inspector chuckled. 

Lupin laughed, head bobbing slightly and bumping against Zenigata’s own. “But seriously! You can’t just be sitting down here thinking of nothing,” 

Silence. 

He didn’t know what to say. 

It was easy to lie, of course. And he planned on it. But his mouth just wouldn’t move. He felt like he was going to be sick, and for some reason, everything was much too close and much too fast but at the same time it was like he was all alone and time had stopped completely. All at once, it was nothing and too much. 

“Pops? Are you alright?” Concern laced Lupin’s voice.

Was that concern  _ real,  _ though? Did he really care? The tomato plants rustled overhead. Surely he was just being polite, just humoring the silly old man, tricking him into believing that his emotions meant something. 

And what if he  _ was  _ actually worried? Should Zenigata tell the truth? Confess? Should he just lie? 

He realized he had to say something. So, he did. “I’m fine,” 

“You aren’t. I know that look, you know, and it isn’t a good one,” 

“I promise you, I’m fine, I just have a resting bitch face,” 

“No, you don’t, your face is very peaceful and nice when it’s resting!” Lupin laughed, the sound identical to the stained glass wind chimes in Zenigata’s beloved room. “ _ Fujiko  _ has a resting bitch face. So does Goemon, now that I think of it…” He blinked, shaking his head. “Now tell me what’s wrong,” 

“I already did! Nothing, it’s nothing,” Zenigata was beginning to feel frantic, now. Oh, God.  _ This  _ is why he needed to try and stop dwelling on his emotions. It always blew up on him like this. He shouldn’t have even let himself linger, he should have done something,  _ anything  _ to distract himself, because now he was panicking and his palms were clammy and cold and his breathing growing ragged.

“Pops…” Lupin said softly, reaching over and brushing his fingers against the soft skin of the inside of the inspector’s wrist. 

But it was too late. Zenigata couldn’t take it anymore. He wrenched his hand away, lurching into a sitting position, eyes wild and wide. 

“Lupin, why are you being so  _ nice  _ to me?” He demanded before he was able to stop himself. Fuck. That was it, wasn’t it? It was all over. Everything was crashing and burning and it was his own damn fault. “Why are you helping me even though we’re supposed to hate each other? Even though I’ve been chasing you, nonstop, for years and years and I’ve hurt you and done nothing but be so awful and I…” he paused, breathing heavily, his eyes flicking over the thief’s surprised expression. He wanted to punch himself in the gut for thinking the man him still looked beautiful in this situation. “ _ Why?”  _ He finally let out, and it came out so pitiful and so pained that he could barely stand himself. 

Lupin seemed to take his sweet time coming up with an answer, chewing a few options around. Never once did he break eye contact. In fact, instead, he wrapped his long, thin,  _ gorgeous  _ fingers around Zenigata’s wrist, attempting to ground him as he opened and closed his mouth, unsure of how to reply. 

Finally, he said softly, “I don’t hate you, Pops.” And then his hand squeezed. It was so light, so gentle, but it was enough to send a new wave of pain washing over the inspector who felt his eyes begin to sting with tears. 

“But you should, Lupin, you idiot! I’m not a-- I’m,” he took a shaky breath. “I’m  _ not a good person,  _ don’t you see? I’m trying to trap someone like you, trying to lock you up, I’ve hurt you so many times and yet here you are, tending to my wounds and treating me like a guest,” 

“You  _ are  _ a guest, technically,” 

“I’m serious! This isn’t how we’re supposed to be!” He whimpered, bottom lip trembling. Stop it, stop it,  _ stop it!  _ Zenigata you fucking idiot what the hell are you  _ doing?  _ Everything was fine before this! What the hell happened! 

“How’re we supposed to be then, Pops?” Lupin’s voice was patient and kind and his thumb was now rubbing soothing circles into Zenigata’s skin. 

“I’m supposed to be chasing you! And you’re supposed to run away and make fun of me and  _ always  _ escape no matter  _ how  _ hard I try! And I’m not supposed to enjoy it and I’m not supposed to  _ want  _ the chase and you’re not supposed to take pity on me and help me when I’m hurt!” He choked out, vision so blurry with tears that he was hardly able to see Lupin’s softening expression. The gentle, sweet touches offered to him were too much, too kind. They burned like the cherries of cigarettes. 

“That isn’t how it has to be.” Lupin smiled softly. “Things can change, you know.  _ I _ know. More than you think, actually, because there’s been a lot of change recently. I-- actually lemme just--” he reached up, just barely raising off of his back, cupping either side of Zenigata’s cheek and pulling him down. Zenigata let him, lowering himself until he was hovering over the thief who was once again flat on his back, clovers brushing up against him. Tears spilled from the inspector’s eyes and dropped onto the other man’s face, rolling down rosy cheeks and smiling lips. 

“Did you know,” Lupin began again, rubbing the pad of his thumb beneath Zenigata’s eye and across his cheek. “that it only takes four minutes to fall in love with someone? It takes ninety minutes of spending time with this person and asking intimate questions and talking but, after that,” one of his hands reached around Zenigata’s head and settled at the nape of his neck. “four minutes of unbroken eye contact is all it takes to fall in love.” He swallowed, and the inspector saw his Adam’s apple bob. “That’s how fast change can be,”

“Lupin,” Zenigata managed. But it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender like the hands on his face or sweet like the eyes of the man he loved. It was a mewl, a whimper, a fearful warning salted with his own tears. 

“Zenigata, it doesn’t have to be the way you described. It can all change. Don’t you understand?” A desperate edge began to cling to his voice. He sounded nervous, as though something wasn’t going his way… as though…

This was a trick, Zenigata realized. It was a trick. Lupin’s hands on his face, pulling him closer and closer, slowly yet surely, faces soon inches apart. It was a trick. He was going to pull a knife on him, or knock him out, or latch him into a pair of handcuffs-- the inspector’s own, perhaps, just to add insult to injury-- and leave him in the cottage and then go on an enormous, incredible heist that would force millions of jewelry stores to declare bankrupt. 

“Please,” Lupin whispered, and his lips were so very nearly brushing against Zenigata’s and the inspector wanted with his entire being to lean down, to melt in the embrace, to kiss him until they were both exhausted, lips swollen and puffy and red and eyes hazy and full of bliss and love. Wanted to hold Lupin ‘til the sun went down and came up again, ‘til both of their bodies simply turned into the very soil that they lay upon. 

“This is just a big game to you, Lupin,” Zenigata whispered. He drew back quickly, head brushing against the leaves and the vines above him that were starting to feel like a prison. 

Lupin looked up at him with eyes so wide and so hurt that a fresh stream of tears poured down Zenigata’s cheeks, fat and hot and poisonous. 

“Stop it, Lupin, don’t  _ look  _ at me like that,” he whimpered, voice quivering as he shook his head softly. He was too closed in, and he began to scramble out of the little hidey-hole. 

“Pops--Zenigata,  _ no,  _ you don’t understand!” Lupin was quick to follow, trying to place his hands on the inspector’s trembling shoulders. 

“You don’t know how much you  _ do  _ to me, do you?” Zenigata whimpered, flinching away from the touch, fearing that if even one of the thief’s magical fingers were to merely brush against him he would crumple into those arms he longed to be held in. “You don’t know how much-- how  _ strongly  _ I feel about--” he stammered for a moment, breath quickening. “--about  _ you!”  _ He managed to spit out, and Lupin stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the inspector with sad eyes. 

“Hey,” the thief whispered, holding out his hands, reaching for Zenigata’s own. His expression was sweet and kind and sucked the terrified man in, reaching into his chest and wrapping around his heart and just squeezing. Squeezing until Zenigata couldn’t breathe anymore. “hey.” He said again, coaxing the inspector down from whatever panic that he had flung himself into. He took a step closer, fingers brushing ever so slightly against Zenigata’s hands.

“ _ Don’t, _ ” Zenigata pleaded out in a wounded gasp. “ _ please.”  _

His head was shaking and he was shivering so heavily that he feared he may teeter over. And Lupin could do nothing but stand there and watch as, slowly, silently, Zenigata moved forward. Closer until he was face to face with the thief and then--

and then he kept walking. Towards the back gate. And his heart split in two the moment he realized that the only sound of footsteps he could hear were his own, meaning that Lupin had no intention of following him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dramatic dumb whore!!!! damnb


	9. unexpected but welcome all the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenigata hitchhikes to Marseille and bumps into a familiar face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to thank my french 1 teacher for helping me write those few probably incorrect sentences in a language that is not my own. merci beaucoup, madame!
> 
> //tw for some pukin',,,,,,,, idk it's just narsty. i hate vomit and im sure u do too

Hitchhiking when you aren’t a woman or a cute young man is, apparently, very difficult. It had been almost half an hour since Zenigata got to the cross in the road that had an old (but working, mind you!) traffic light, and many cars had come and gone without stopping even once.

He had decided that after he left Lupin in the backyard vegetable garden, gasping for air and in a teary-eyed mess while the thief was nothing but sweet and patient and understanding, it would be a real dick move to take the car and drive away. So he would just get somebody else, a stranger, to drive him to Marseille, where he would 

  1. get piss drunk and 
  2. book a flight back to Tokyo. 



And there, once he was back, he would probably quit his job. Find something new. Something to make him forget  _ all  _ about that gentleman thief bastard. He didn’t care if the pay was lower and he lost the respect of all of his peers-- he just  _ couldn’t  _ go back to how his life used to be now that he had come to terms with how he felt. 

He just wanted to forget all about it. Wanted things to go back to how they were, wanted to be the annoying ICPO officer that was always hot on the charming, charismatic thief’s trail, the two of them parading around the world, always playing their little game, never once stopping to talk or even consider the other human. 

That, of course, was all ruined by Zenigata himself, and after his little…  _ outburst,  _ he most definitely wasn’t going to get any forgiveness from the thief, no matter how sorry he really, truly was. And trust him. He was  _ sorry.  _ So sorry, in fact, that as he was walking to the fork in the road, he felt utterly sick to his stomach. Shame managed to squeeze its way into every crevice, every nook, and cranny of his body, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to make it  _ stop.  _ He would just have to suck it up and deal with it, seeing as he had caused this whole mess in the first place. 

He deflated slightly, the thumb he was sticking out to the road in the universal sign of  _ I’m a hitchhiker!  _ lowering just a little bit as he wondered just where it had all gone so horribly wrong. Just the other day, everybody was laughing and cozy and warm, all huddled up and making fun of Lupin’s baby pictures, and for the first time in a very long time, Zenigata had a night that he really, truly  _ enjoyed  _ with other people, feeling so safe and so welcome. 

But that morning. Seeing Lupin, curled up and perfect and so very vulnerable as he slept soundly on Zenigata’s lap… it just made the inspector feel guilty beyond reason. Like he didn’t deserve to feel the simple pleasures of casual intimacy, like he was being incredibly selfish by being in the mere presence of the notorious Lupin the Third.

And that was, he realized, where it had gone wrong.

Because then everything began to snowball, and it all spiraled out of control until Zenigata couldn’t take it anymore and he tucked his tail and ran. Typical of such a cowardly man, wasn’t it? To feel one little thing and then get away as fast as he could. 

In the distance, he could see headlights coming closer. They were coming from the direction he had, and just the  _ smallest  _ flicker of hope sparked in his heart; was it, perhaps, Lupin, coming to get him? Speeding down the road, only to jump out the minute he saw Zenigata and scoop him into the most splendid kiss he had ever received? 

In a perfect dreamland, that was  _ exactly  _ what happened. In a perfect dreamland, he kissed Zenigata with so much passion and emotion and then whispered  _ oh  _ so softly of how deeply his love ran for the other man, of just how  _ long  _ he’s wanted to do just that. And then they would both get in the car, gazes tender and hearts beating as one, and they would just drive and drive and drive for miles on end.

But this, obviously, was neither perfect nor a dreamland. It was the Provencal countryside with an overcast sky, clouds beginning to swell larger and larger despite the radios informing everybody tuning in that it would be at least a few more days until the rain actually came, and the car that came by was not a yellow Fiat with a lovesick Lupin at the wheel, but rather an old red pickup truck with an even older farmer grinning out at the inspector. 

“Bonjour!” The farmer exclaimed. He had a huge, salt and pepper broom mustache on his face, big, circular glasses that made his eyes bug out just a tad, and a grey tweed newsboy cap perched atop his head. His smile was welcome and infectious, and his old, wrinkled skin was sun-kissed and sported several moles. He waved Zenigata over with a wrinkled, well-worked hand, looking over the man with his bug-like gaze. 

“Er-- bonjour,” Zenigata greeted. He pointed down the road, and the old man followed his finger, bushy eyebrows raising before he directed his gaze back towards the inspector. “Marseille,” 

“Est-ce là que tu vas?” He asked, reaching over to the passenger seat and swinging the door open, apparently deciding that he didn’t mind offering a ride. Zenigata felt a wave of relief wash over him as he climbed in (having to boost himself up using both of his hands-- the truck was more like a tractor, obviously used for heavy lifting and farming. It was hard to get on), shimmying in the peeling leather seat as he swung the door shut. 

That relief was quick to go, however, as the inspector realized that he was in France, and the only thing he knew how to say was: 

“Je ne parle pas français, désolé,” 

_ I do not speak French, sorry.  _

The old man blinked once, twice, a third time, before he tipped his head back and laughed jovially. Then in a heavy accent, he turned to face the inspector with glittering eyes and said the only thing  _ he  _ knew in English, which was: 

“Forgive me, I do not speak English!” 

And this simple exchange was enough to lift Zenigata’s mood significantly, and he found it damn near impossible not to laugh at the fact that the only thing either of the two was able to communicate with each other was the fact that they  _ couldn’t  _ communicate with each other. Not verbally, at least. 

“Alors, Marseille?” The old man chuckled, and the car began to rumble forward. Zenigata noticed that there were no seatbelts. 

“Yes-- ah,  _ oui.  _ Marseille,” 

And that was really all that needed to be said. The pair fell into silence, and for that, the inspector was deeply grateful. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to explain who he was or why he was out in the countryside with no car and knowing  _ full well  _ the closest city was miles and miles away. He just wanted to leave. To get wasted--go home? To get wasted and  _ then  _ go home? Or perhaps he should leave first  _ before  _ he completely drowned everything he had felt in alcohol? 

Oh well. He’d figure it out later when he reached Marseille. For now, though, he just had to focus on the road ahead, and mark all of his exit points on the car. Whether the driver was old or not, it was always for the best to keep on your toes when you hitchhike. 

After about twenty more minutes of driving in complete silence, the old Frenchman nudged Zenigata with his elbow. The inspector, who had gotten quite cozy and was completely relaxed and dozing off (he was  _ exhausted),  _ jumped, noticeably frightened. 

“Ah, ah! Désolé, mon ami,” he smiled, and Zenigata knew enough bare-bones French that he had apologized for startling him. Zenigata shook his head, holding his hands out in the universal gesture of  _ don’t worry about it!  _ which the man seemed to understand completely, and smiled. He then pointed to the radio on the car-- an old yellowing contraption, many of the buttons loose, plastic peeling ever so slightly on the surface of the volume detail. “d’accord?” He asked, miming pressing the  _ on  _ button so that music could play. Zenigata wasn’t sure whether he was asking if he could or asking if the inspector wanted to, but his answer was the same either way. 

“Sure-- I mean, um.  _ Oui, merci,” _ he corrected, a small feeling of satisfaction warming him. It was nice talking to somebody that you couldn’t actually talk to. They understood each other through gestures and words that everybody knew from plain old common sense. 

Without further conversation (“conversation”), the button was pressed and a  _ very  _ familiar tune filled out the old red truck as it puttered along the road. With a wrench of his heart, Zenigata sat back and listened to the old man hum along to the tune of  _ La Vie en Rose,  _ Piaf’s voice just as beautiful and sweet as it was a few nights ago.

\---

This was his fourth shot. He wasn’t sure how he had ordered the other three, but it was working, and the bartender was keeping the rounds coming. It was gone the instant it was placed in front of Zenigata, and then, with an empathetic little nod, the redheaded girl behind the counter filled the shot glass with more clear, pungent liquid. 

It went down  _ burning,  _ and it tasted like rubbing alcohol and smelled like gasoline. Every mouthful made the inspector want to puke, made his stomach churn and his eyes water,

But it was warm. And it was familiar and it was something to distract him from the mess he had made earlier. And it would make him forget about everything for a few hours, so that was good enough for him. With a soft rumble that emitted from the back of his throat, he punched down his fifth and took it like a champ, the disgusting cheap vodka starting to grow on him. 

Originally, when Zenigata had stepped out of the polite Frenchman’s car and bid him  _ adieu _ , he was simply going to walk straight to the airport and go right on to Tokyo where he could lie down in his apartment’s uncomfortable bed and sleep for the next week or so. 

But change happens (just as Lupin had said in the tomato plants) and the  _ second  _ the rumpled inspector saw that old, broken down and grimy bar, he knew he just had to stop in for a moment or two. Or four, if moments were counted in hours. 

The place was dark, nothing but a few neon signs and colored bulbs providing any light source. The floor had old gum and dirt and a few of those Mardi Gras bead necklaces, and the black brick walls were cracked. There was a leak in the ceiling dripping into a tin bucket (the bucket had holes), and the whole room smelled like cheap drinks and cheaper sex. A jukebox was playing a French rock song he didn’t know or understand or even care about, and thick clouds of hazy cigarette smoke obscured his already blurry vision. The song’s bass guitar thrummed and pulsed deep within his chest and in the very crevices of his brain. 

This place--  _ La Fin,  _ as it was called; literally  _ The End--  _ was obviously somewhere to go once you’ve hit rock bottom or somewhere near it. Everybody was quietly sitting alone and minding their own damn business, buried in stacks of shot glasses and filling their cigarette smoke-fed bellies stale nachos with fake cheese. Posture usually hunched, heads resting in hands, on tables, on a friend or stranger’s shoulder. Eyes like ash, burnt out and staring at nothing. The few quiet conversations that were occurring were spoken in hushed, slow, solemn tones. It was an atmosphere that made Zenigata want to get even drunker, made him want to drown himself in that awful, disgusting, ass-cheap alcohol that the poor sweet girl behind the counter kept offering him. 

He looked quite the mess. 

Or, at least, that’s what a teasing voice behind him giggled, long acrylic fingernails scrubbing through his hair. Zenigata turned with a gasp, eyes blown wide. 

Tight black bodysuit, phoenix-fire hair, eyes shimmering like diamonds and nails hot pink and more dangerous than razor blades. Slick, red lips curled into a smirk, a sharply trimmed eyebrow arching.

“Fujiko,” the inspector said, noticing with embarrassment how he had slurred her name. 

“Look what we have here,” she teased, flicking his cheek. He winced, turning away for a moment. “you look like shit,” 

“Fuck off,” 

“Ooh, and sound like it, too. How many shots have you had?” She asked, laughing lightly. It wasn’t a tinkling, joyful sound like Lupin’s, but mean-spirited and filled with energy. Zenigata blinked, pouting slightly and lowering his head to the countertop, painted wood smooth and cool against his warm cheek. The room spun. “That many, eh?” She snorted, plopping down on the seat next to him. She raised her finger, and the girl behind the counter came scrambling up. Her cheeks were hot and her eyes a litte wide, and although she spoke in a different language, Zenigata could tell that she stammered a little when she greeted Fujiko. Poor little thing, the inspector thought with a huff of a chuckle.

A tall glass, filled to the brim with thick red liquid was plopped down in front of the femme fatale almost immediately. A moment later, a stock of celery was neatly placed in it, along with a small pink mini umbrella and yellow curly straw. Fujiko thanked the barkeep before taking a nice, long sip of her bloody mary. 

“Bleugh,” Zenigata murmured, feeling sick at the mere thought. Bloody maries were so strange to him. It was basically just drinking cold tomato soup with a little zing to it! And the celery?  _ Really?  _ How anybody at all could subject themselves to something that made him want to literally barf was beyond him. 

“Mmm, I sure love tomato juice!” Fujiko said loudly, teasing Zenigata’s obvious contempt for her drink. “So,” she began in an all-business manner, sharpening up almost instantly. “where’s Lupin gone off to?” 

Ah. 

“Not here,” he murmured, bringing his arms up to rest beneath his chin. “I left alone,” his words were slurring together more and more, and he didn’t realize just how drunk he felt until he heard himself. It was pitiful, really.

“Oh! You left? So you’re feeling all better?” 

“Mmm. No.” He groaned, burying his face in the nook of his elbow. “No.” He said again, softer this time. 

His ear was promptly tweaked, the girl’s long fingernails pinching at his lobe until he looked over at her with a scowl that he hadn’t meant to wear. 

“If you aren’t feeling better, why did you leave? C’mon, old man, you need to be in your prime if you wanna catch Lupin,” 

“I don’t want to catch Lupin anymore.” 

It was said without much thought, and it surprised Zenigata to hear himself say it at all. But he knew part of it was true. He  _ didn’t. _ His stomach churned anew, and his eyes shut for a moment to try and get the fucking room to just  _ stop moving--  _ for a little bit, at least. 

He didn’t open his eyes even when his head didn’t feel like sludge anymore. Fujiko’s expression was one he did not want to see.

“You aren’t okay,” Fujiko finally said, though the edge from her voice was gone. It was softer now, with something that, to the untrained ear, sounded like sympathy. But the inspector knew better. That was pity he heard. “I think you should stop drinking now, Pops.” 

Although she left no room for argument, Zenigata did not feel like stopping. He felt like drinking more and more until he just blacked out, felt like ordering just a few more shots from the girl behind the counter who was obviously crushing just a bit on Fujiko. 

“Come on,” she said, a little firmer this time. She stood up, tossing a few bills next to her practically untouched drink. With a huff, the inspector lifted himself up and began to slide off of the barstool. 

The minute his feet touched the ground, however, he stumbled. And it was a little embarrassing to be caught by Fujiko, but he didn’t mind much of anything at this point. She was warm and she smelled like that fruity perfume she liked to use and her hair brushed against his cheek enough to remind him to keep his eyes open. With strong, unwavering steps, she slowly led him to the door as he slouched against her shoulder, feeling awful and disgusting and like he was going to lean over and ruin her sleek black boots with vomit.   
“Stay with me, now, old man,” she hummed in his ear. 

_ I’ll try,  _ he thought grimly but didn’t say a single word as she led him away from the counter he had sat at.

Fujiko’s hotel, he noticed instantly, was one of top quality. If it was possible to have a building that could be  _ more  _ than five stars, this was certainly it. 

Clean, white carpet, dazzling slick white tile on the floors of the mini-kitchen and bathroom. A whole damn  _ bar  _ right in the middle of that spacious area, a slab of white marble serving as the counter as mahogany shelves held expensive brands of bourbon, whiskey, vodka, wine, and other refined alcohols. The chairs were fat and a mint color, and the couch, of the same shade, was sleek. It should have stricken Zenigata motionless, he should have been in absolute awe of the sparkling cleanliness and dazzling beauty of such a clean-cut and expensive room.

In comparison to Lupin’s cottage with its peeling paint and old furniture and mismatched everything, however, this place was hideous. 

“So tell me,” Fujiko began airly, Zenigata still sagging all of his weight on her petite (but damn  _ muscular)  _ frame. “what’s going on?”

Suddenly, without so much as a warning, Zenigata’s stomach lurched in such a particular way that he knew  _ exactly  _ what was coming and he attempted to scramble away from the girl before got sick all over her immaculate hotel room. 

From her own awful experiences, though, Fujiko knew that if she didn’t drag the inspector’s sorry ass to the bathroom soon, she would be paying quite a hefty bill to have the carpets cleaned. So she walked briskly, awkwardly reassuring him the entire way. 

The minute he was inside of the bright, clean bathroom, he fell to his knees and wrenched the toilet seat open before puking like never before. His stomach churned, hot and sick and threatening to slip right out of his open mouth along with all of his other organs. His guts were at his very own disposal, at the moment, and tears streamed down his cheeks as vomit spewed from his lips and nose. 

“Christ,” he sobbed when he was able to stop for a second. And it was, in fact, quite literally a second before he was back at it. Fujiko’s fingers rubbed up and down his hunched shoulders comfortingly, the fabric of the yellow blouse he had borrowed moving as her fingers did. 

“You poor, poor idiot. I know you, Pops. Or, well--” she paused a moment, seeming to find the correct words. “ _ Lupin  _ knows you. And he’s told us that you only drink  _ that _ heavily when you’re going through some sort of shit,” her tone was calming, gentle. She was not making fun of Zenigata. 

“Fuck. I guess he’s--” he wasn’t able to finish the sentence quite yet, as he interrupted himself. When he stopped, heaving and sobbing, he continued. “--he’s right. Fuck that guy,” he managed before his body sent him for another spin. 

“Wow, you’re  _ that  _ angry at him?” Fujiko laughed, and it sounded different than it had been in the bar. It was nicer. “He saved your life, dumbass! You should be thanking him.” 

“I didn’t want him to,” Zenigata groaned, gripping the porcelain so hard his knuckles turned white. “I hate him. I hate him  _ so much,” _

Those words, as they fell from his disgusting lips (along with another gut-wrenching spew of vomit) sounded wrong. They weren’t… they weren’t true. At all. Even Fujiko caught on to this. 

“You’re drunk,” she said softly. 

“I still hate him,”

“Are you really sure about that?” 

“ _ Yes,”  _

“Why, then?” 

He didn’t like that question at all, and after he lifted his head from another wave of sick, tears and spit mixing at the bottom of his chin, he searched for an answer.

“I just--” he sniffled, Fujiko’s hand continuing to rub up and down his back. “Fujiko, he makes me feel… so…” 

But he never finished. Instead, he just lurched over again, and every word he wanted to say spilled out of him. Literally. 

The bath Fujiko ran for him after his initial shower was  _ nice _ . It was more than nice, water tinted rosy due to the lights overhead, fragrances sweet and light and wonderful. He hadn’t expected her to do it, and he even nagged her about wasting water, but she swatted him on his bare shoulder and said that after vomiting for a good long time, it was best to have some time to relax.

Either way, Zenigata appreciated the water’s warmth and how  _ good  _ it was to finally be clean. To have a moment of release after his high-stress day.

Night had already fallen, though there were no crickets and no breeze and no stars. Just the rush of passing vehicles and the hustle and bustle of Marseille at night, all lit up and gorgeous against the dark, milky backdrop of the sky. 

It was pretty, the inspector thought. It was nice. And fresh and new and incredible. But it couldn’t even  _ begin  _ to compare to the cottage’s view. With the fields and the night sky and those sweet jersey cows with their soft voices and charming cowbells. 

He groaned, sliding down until his head was fully submerged in the bathwater. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, but didn’t stop sliding until he felt his neck touch the bottom of the tub.

He opened his eyes. 

Small bubbles floated up from his nose and mouth, and he watched as the quivered up to the surface in disappeared. The world outside of the water was distorted slightly, and he just stared. He wanted to stay down there forever, to just let the warmth swallow him whole and take him away from everything that had happened. 

The thing was-- it wasn’t  _ just  _ how he broke down in front of Lupin. It was the fact that he even felt that way for the man, it was how sweet everyone had been, it was the way that Zenigata was questioning whether or not he would ever be able to go back to life as it used to be. 

It was the dancing. The touches. The soft words. The intimacy. All of it.

He just couldn’t take it. He wasn’t  _ used  _ to this kind of softness in his nothing-but-hard-edges life. It scared him, and he just didn’t know what the fuck to  _ do.  _ Affection was not anything he had even known well, even when he had been married. Yes, he loved her, and yes, she loved him right back. They were  _ so happy _ . They kissed and laughed and danced and had sex and went on long trips and drank deep into the night and they were so,  _ so very happy,  _ yes _.  _

But this was… this was different. 

The tenderness that Lupin’s gaze held was enough to knock the inspector flat on his ass. It was enough to make his heart burn and ache and throb in his chest as though it were being constricted by some unknown force. A simple touch would send him fucking reeling, every word uttered from those sweet, sweet lips was like a siren’s song to Zenigata, and he just wasn’t able to resist. He fell hard and he fell strong and he fell as he had never fallen before.

And that was why this was all so. Fucking.  _ Hard.  _

Why going back to normal life-- to late nights at the station, to Cup Noodles and canned lemonade, to different uncomfortable hotel beds each week, to the awful life as “Interpol’s finest”-- was going to be so damned difficult. Loving somebody you are supposed to hate rips you at the seams, and the inspector was beginning to realize this firsthand. And it hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it  _ hurt.  _

Zenigata only realized how long he’d been underwater until he felt his body switch into panic mode, and he quickly sat up with a gasp. 

\---

“Comfy?” Fujiko asked, smirking at the image before her. 

“This is so tiny,” Zenigata groaned as he stood in a pair of her black pyjama shorts and one of her sweaters. “Fujiko your hips are so  _ tiny,” _ he groaned again, awkwardly padding at his love handles. 

“No, you’ve just got a fat ass,” Fujiko said simply, pouring herself a drink. “still drunk, or do you need some more?” She asked, holding up a bottle of what looked to be bourbon so expensive it would take Zenigata four paychecks just to get a glass of it. 

“Gee, thanks,” he mumbled, tugging awkwardly at the shorts. “and no. Please, God, no. I don’t want to drink anymore. I feel like shit,” he sighed, trudging towards the little couch that Fujiko had set up for him. She ordered an extra comforter from the service desk, explaining that her friend was in need of a place to crash, and she had no intention of sharing a bed with him. 

His head felt like a bowling ball. Each time he leaned it to one side, it would flop right over, heavy and swimming. At the same time, though, he was weightless. Like he could float away at any given moment. 

“Did my bath help you sober up a little?” Fujiko asked into her glass, and he nodded. 

“Yeah, it was better than I thought it would be,” 

“That’s good. I knew it would do something to save that big fat head of yours,” 

“You keep calling different body parts of mine fat,”

She shrugged. 

“Are you tired?” She took a sip, sighing with satisfaction. 

“I’ll be fine. Wouldn’t want to make you go to bed early,” he slowly lowered himself onto the couch, the extra blanket sitting in a lumpy pile at the base of it. He felt too weak to pull it over himself. 

“Oh, trust me, I won’t. I can always just turn on the TV,” 

“I guess,” 

“So I’ll turn off the light, then?” She asked, standing up and setting her bourbon on the marble countertop. Zenigata’s gaze followed her as she walked towards the light switch, her index finger lingering on the very top of it. 

“...Please,” he finally answered, and she nodded, flicking it off. Instantly, the room faded away, and the inspector heard Fujiko fumble a little bit as she stumbled around in search of the remote. When it was found, the television clicked on and the volume turned down. But Zenigata couldn’t care less. His eyes were closed, and his head was swimming, and he just wanted to  _ sleep.  _

Something warm and soft and snuggly was draped over him without so much as a warning. His eyes cracked open.

“Sh, sh, sh. Sleep,” Fujiko said softly as she patted the comforter down over his body. From the background, a show that the inspector didn’t recognize was playing, and the blue light of the TV gave the woman hovering over him a slight glow. 

“Fujiko,” his voice was weak and hurt and his eyes gazed up at her, soft and pained and searching. “Fujiko I just love him so  _ much, _ ” he whispered, tears blurring his vision before quickly spilling out over his cheeks. 

“I know, baby. I know you do,” she smiled, using her thumbs to wipe away the wetness on his cheeks, which she cupped and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Lupin is a very easy man to love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a little fact about myslef is i am in love with fujiko and i would like her to be my wife.thank you. that's it. goodnight everybody


	10. distance makes the heart grow fonder, or so they say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fujiko lets Zenigata crash with her for a little while, offering her help in any way possible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this plot is getting sillier by the minute.,,,, how can any of u endure this stupid shit,,, wadda hell

Fujiko was, strangely enough, nothing but understanding when she had found a very rumpled and distressed Zenigata in one of the cheapest bars of Marseille. Which, in all honesty, was surprising; he was always under the impression that she absolutely hated his guts, which really was only fair considering the fact that, for most of his career, he had been chasing Lupin and the rest of his band around (and this, of course, included her) trying to lock them up for life. 

But she didn’t mind having him. The morning he woke up from that first tearful night, she already had a fresh pot of (expensive!) hotel coffee brewed and a nice, clean black mug of it waiting for him at the counter. It was strong and just bitter enough to give his hangover a nice little kick that would hopefully render it completely useless after a few cups. 

That, however, was extremely unlikely. Because this was probably the worst hangover the poor inspector had ever endured in his entire life. It felt like his head was splitting right down the middle, and he could do absolutely nothing but continue to nurse on mugs of coffee and lay his head down in his arms as Fujiko rubbed comforting circles into his back. 

“Zenigata,” she began softly, an edge of kind teasing to her voice that the inspector never had the pleasure of knowing before. “when was the last time you drank like that? I haven’t ever seen you so fucked up before,” 

“...Probably sophomore year of college,” he answered after a moment to process what she had just said. She snorted, and he winced, burying his head deeper in his arms. Whether it was from embarrassment or pain from his hangover, he would never know. 

And that was how it went that first night. Still wearing Fujiko’s much too small clothes, he spent all morning and all afternoon and well into the night simply lying around, face usually pressed into an arm or a cushion or a pillow. His hangover, mind you, had ceased sometime around midday. But his heartache was still fresh and tender. 

The entire time, Fujiko offered cups of coffee and small plates of fruits that he could snack on, enough to get him by but still light so that he wasn’t hurling his guts up the very moment he swallowed. She was relatively quiet, kept the hotel dark, and would offer him small touches on the arm or shoulder as a form of sympathy. Her voice was soothing, and it was nice to be able to just sit and process all that had happened in the past 24 hours. 

The next few days went pretty similarly, Fujiko allowing Zenigata to have a moment of peace, some time where he could just rest his head and sleep all he wanted without so much worry plaguing his system. He would sleep on her couch, shower when he woke up, and either wear what he had when she found him (the yellow blouse and those black dress pants) or be forced to wriggle in some of Fujiko’s pyjamas when his clothes were dirty. Her shorts were always much too small and stretched a bit, but her shirts fit his barrel-chested upper half just fine, and she joked that they had the same cup size.

For the most part, it was fine. It was comfortable and very clean and Fujiko was, apparently,  _ hilarious  _ and held one hell of a conversation. But, of course, it was absolutely nothing compared to the cottage, and this thought alone was enough to sour Zenigata’s mood for an entire day even if everything thus far had been going just fine. Fujiko noticed the dips in his mood, and would silently coax him back to feeling better, switching on the television or asking if he wanted anything when she ordered take out late at night when neither of them felt like cooking.

“Anything at all?” She asked in a voice a little above a whisper, holding the mouthpiece of the hotel’s phone with her slender hand. Zenigata shook his head from where he lay on the couch, legs hanging over one of the arms, a circular, clean white pillow clutched against his stomach. Fujiko rolled her eyes. “Oui, oui,” she finally said, turning her attention back to the phone. “ah, merci, mademoiselle! Er, non. Oui, merci. Adieu,” she said sweetly before hanging up the receiver with a soft click.

“Didn’t know you understood French,” Zenigata mumbled from his sulking place. Fujiko crossed the room and sat next to his head, the cushions sagging ever so slightly as she sat down. Absently, her hand raked against his scalp. 

“Of course. I learned it when I first met Lupin-- I wanted to impress him,” she smiled, and the soft way her acrylics scraped against the inspector’s tired head made his eyes flutter shut.

“Sounds like you’re in love with him,” he chortled, and she papped him lightly on the cheek. 

“No, that’s  _ you,”  _ she teased, and despite his best efforts, Zenigata’s cheeks dusted over with a soft rose. “I used to be in love with him,” she continued, voice sounding far off as she relaxed more into the couch. “it was years and years ago, and I’m pretty sure it was love at first sight. He was handsome and charming and sexy as all get out, as I’m sure you know,” 

“Stooppp,” he groaned, trying to shove her hand away. He failed miserably, and she continued. 

“I fell out of love with him, though, when he started chasing after me, claiming that  _ he  _ loved me, too,” there was a smile in her voice; Zenigata could hear instead of see it, eyes still softly closed. “I hope you realize that he definitely didn’t. He just liked my fantastic set of boobs,” she laughed. 

“That man is a horn dog,” the inspector mumbled, feeling a little ashamed to hear Fujiko’s side of her and Lupin’s alleged “love story.” 

“That’s how I realized that sure, he was  _ fun _ to date, but there was nothing there. So now I’m just his friend, and if he wines and dines me on occasion I certainly won’t complain. A girl’s gotta eat, you know!”

“Yeah, I guess.” Zenigata opened his eyes and was met with Fujiko’s, which shone bright and amber. He could definitely see why Lupin liked her so much. He frowned.

“But,” she began again, gaze softening just a little when she saw the inspector’s own, “it’s different with you. You know that, right?” 

“Fujiko, you just described to me a man who clearly wants nothing to do with romance and everything to do with a big chest,” 

“Which you have,” the girl teased and Zenigata’s hands dragged across his face and he cursed. She laughed loudly-- a sound that, as he learned, was completely different from what he had heard for years. This, apparently, was her  _ actual  _ laugh. Not something she used for seduction purposes, not something that came out when she was trying to charm some old rich guy out of his money, but a real, genuine laugh. 

It was ugly. 

Loud and brash and full of life, paired with a snort or two and a sigh when she would come back down from her giggles. She patted his cheek gently with her cold, dainty hand.

“But really, old man, don’t you see it? Lupin  _ feels  _ something for you-- actually, truly feels something. He  _ likes  _ you, can’t you tell? It’s insanely obvious, it has been for years, now.” 

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, Fujiko,” he murmured. 

“Ohhh, yes I do. Trust me. Why else would he have saved your ass so many times, ah? He’s been looking at you with heart eyes for a long time, now, you’re just too stupid to realize.” 

Flustered, he lifted himself by his elbows and turned to look at her accusingly. “Stupid!” He exclaimed, frowning. “I  _ know  _ how he feels about me, and it definitely isn’t anything like that!” 

“You’re so ignorant! If you even paused to consider how he treats you compared to everybody else you would be able to see how hopelessly in love with you he is!” 

“That’s a lie,” he grumbled, sinking back down to the couch. As if nothing had happened, Fujiko’s fingers continued to toy gently with his hair. 

“If you insist, you great big fool. I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself,” 

“See for myself? Fujiko, I’m not going to be seeing  _ anything  _ to do with Lupin ever again,” he barked at her, and for a moment, she looked genuinely surprised. His statement had caught her completely off guard. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What I  _ mean  _ is after you’re finished playing pity on me, I’m going to book a flight to Tokyo and go home. Then, I’m going to quit my job at Interpol and ignore every move that monkey-faced bastard makes,”

“Old man, you can’t be serious,” Fujiko’s voice was stern. 

“Of course I am. I completely humiliated myself, and I know that I’ll never be able to arrest him after… well. You know,” 

“So, what, you’re just going to leave him alone?” 

“I’m not  _ leaving  _ him if I was never with him in the first place, dumbass,” 

“You sound like you’re angry at him,” 

“I’m not,” his response was quick. 

“Well, you’re obviously mad,” 

“I’m  _ not,”  _ this was not a lie. He  _ wasn’t  _ mad, but, in all honesty, he didn’t know what it was that he was feeling. What it was that made his stomach churn sickeningly and his head grow fuzzy.

“Maybe not at Lupin, but you’re certainly upset with somebody. Who is it?” 

“I’m not mad at anyone, Fujiko. But you’re damn well getting on my nerves!” 

“If you aren’t mad then what  _ are  _ you? I know your face, old man, I’ve run from it for years. You don’t just look pissed off all the time. So what? What is it? Tell me!”

“It’s nothing! This is just my decision and it’s been made, can’t you see that?” 

“Why are you punishing him for how you feel?” 

This shut the inspector up pretty well, and he sat up. Back turned to the girl on the other end of the couch, he worried his lower lip. 

He was mad at himself. For being so damned stupid. For even getting into this whole situation in the first place. It was all his fault, and now here he was, lovesick and aching for a man he knew he could never have. 

“I’m not punishing him,” he murmured, turning to face her slowly. His expression had softened, and the moment she saw that she moved closer and slung her arm over his shoulder. “I’m doing him a  _ favor.  _ I’m getting out of his hair. I’ve already bothered him enough, right? Why should he have to keep dealing with me?”

“Zenigata, you won’t let anybody make up their mind about you. Did you know that? You assume everyone is against you right off the bat,”

“That’s not true,”

“Then why don’t you believe me when I tell you how Lupin feels?” 

“Because it can’t be real. It can’t be, you’re just teasing me,” his words came out more despairingly than he had wanted them to, and Fujiko squeezed him softly. 

“When I was younger, I did the exact same thing. Doubted that anybody liked me, thought that people were just lying when they said they wanted to be friends. Everyone did that, I think, but some people just never were able to grow out of it. People don’t hate you,” she spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. “especially not us. I don’t, and neither does Jigen or Goemon.  _ Least  _ of all Lupin. So why can’t you just let him?” 

“Let him…? Come on, you need to finish your sentences,” he joked, trying not to let himself break. Fujiko had already seen him cry once, she didn’t deserve to have to deal with his sorry ass for a second time. 

“Why don’t you let him  _ love  _ you, old man? What are you so  _ afraid of?”  _

“...Huh?”

Something about her tone hit him hard and he gazed at her with wide, hurt eyes. She was right-- he was afraid. He was so, so afraid. And maybe it was foolish of him to be, maybe it was unreasonable and immature and completely useless to feel that way. But there was nothing he could do about it. He just couldn’t feel any different. 

“I think you should go,” she said abruptly, standing up. He stared owlishly. 

“ _ Huh?” _

“That’s right, loverboy, I’m kicking you out! I--”

But before she could finish, there was a sharp ring from the telephone. Both of them froze and stared at it for a moment as though it would initiate some horrible, awful chain of events.

“Probably just the food place I called earlier. Maybe they don’t deliver at night,” she mumbled, walking briskly to the phone and holding it up against her ear, waiting for a beat. Zenigata bit his lower lip, furrowing his brows as he leaned back into the couch. 

Maybe she had a point. Maybe he should leave, should apologize and hope for the best. Even if the best meant never being able to feel the softness of Lupin’s gaze as it flicked across Zenigata’s lovesick face.

Suddenly, Fujiko said “Hey,” and it took him a moment to wrench himself free of his thoughts. 

“Wh..yeah?” He asked. She simply held out the phone’s receiver to him, gesturing to it with her head, frowning slightly. When he pointed to his chest, she nodded, and he stood to walk over to her and answer… whoever it was that needed him. 

When he pressed the cool plastic of the sleep black phone to his ear, Fujiko leaving to take his place on the couch, he was  _ not  _ expecting to hear the gruff sound of none other than Jigen on the other line, voice made tinny through the receiver of the telephone. 

“Hey, Pops, where the fuck  _ are  _ you?” He asked immediately, though he didn’t sound as angry as his words suggested. Just peeved.

“I--  _ Jigen?”  _ Zenigata asked dumbly. 

“As far as I know, yeah,” 

“Why are you-- I’m with Fujiko-- why are you calling?” 

“Lupin’s getting on our nerves over here, man!” Jigen exclaimed, and the inspector blinked. “I don’t know what the hell happened to make you leave, but that day when Lupin came back inside the house he had tears in his eyes and he said he was hitting the sack early. Him being all gloomy along with this overcast weather is making for a real depressing scene, jackass,”

“Why’s he upset? I thought… I thought he wanted me gone?” 

“What? No! Why would you think that?” He barked before continuing. “God, you don’t understand how much I despise sulking Lupin. Wanna punch the guy in the nose,”

Zenigata didn’t reply. He heard Jigen take a deep breath on the other end of the phone. 

“Listen,” he began seriously. “I don’t know what’s been running through your peabrain, but it was nice having you around, you know. If it weren’t for your job and the fact that I’m pretty sure you hate all of us with the intensity of a thousand burning suns, I firmly believe that we would’ve all been friends,” he paused to take a breath. “I mean, you wouldn’t be a thief or anything. You don’t have the makings of a thief, but sure, I’ve shared a drink and a smoke with you before, I’ll happily do it again.” 

“I don’t hate you,” Zenigata said softly, twirling the chord ‘round his finger idly. Guilt pooled in the depths of his gut. 

“See? And neither do we. So why did you just up and leave?” 

It took the inspector a moment to find the right words. He mulled over several answers in his head, but nothing seemed to  _ fit  _ at all. He had no idea that Jigen felt that way, and all he wanted to do now was run back and apologize to everybody for making such an ass of himself. It was so embarrassing, really, and he had  _ no _ idea how he was going to live such a thing down! Outside, thunder rumbled. It was finally going to rain soon.

“Listen,” Jigen didn’t let Zenigata answer. “all I know is that Lupin really wanted to let you know how sorry he is, and that’s why I’m calling. The bastard couldn’t bring himself to talk to you, he’s ashamed of… Something,” 

“ _ Ashamed?”  _ At this new information, the inspector was completely taken aback. How could he possibly be ashamed? He hadn’t cried or blown up over any of this!

“Yeah, I know! Listen, I don’t know  _ shit  _ that’s happened, and I don’t know your plans or whatever. We were all kinda worried you’d already gone back to Tokyo, and Lupin said that if you did, he wouldn’t chase after you anymore. Says he’ll ‘take the hint,’ whatever that means,” 

The hint?  _ What  _ hint? The one that Zenigata was head over heels in love with him? That he was making a damned fool of himself because he was so terrified of being rejected by the person he wasn’t supposed to love in the first place? 

“Pops, he misses you. Don’t you miss him? I’ve seen how you look at each other.” 

“Jigen--” this took Zenigata’s breath clean away. Was he really that obvious? His cheeks flushed a bright red, and he was rendered completely speechless. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. 

“I do,” he finally said. “I miss him a lot.” 

And after a few more moments, the two bid one another goodbye and Zenigata hung up the phone, hand shivering violently. 

The night air was cold against his skin as he walked, even colder with the storm constantly edging closer. He had left Fujiko’s about an hour ago, and, instead of going straight to the cottage as he had promised, was walking about the streets of Marseille, stalling and hiding from his own feelings. 

Truthfully, he was terrified of going back. He didn’t  _ want  _ to. There was nothing he wanted more than to be safe at his own home, eating his instant noodles and sleeping in a shitty cheap bed. But at the same time, he longed to be in Lupin’s presence in a way that he had never felt before. It was like a magnetic pull, and it made his chest  _ hurt  _ with the strength of it. He had to see Lupin, had to tell him outright what he felt. And it was scary and awful and he really didn’t want to do it at  _ all,  _ but what choice did he have?

His shoes clicked rhythmically on the pavement below, and he tried his best to focus on the glimmering shine of fairy lights and hanging lanterns that were strung across the many buildings in his path. Bars and coffee shops, clubs and apartment buildings-- they were still alive well after 12 AM, still thrumming with life, fueled by the promise of a night spent laughing and kissing and dancing and hugging. Fueled by the desire for the sun to never rise again. 

The air itself was heavy and slow thanks to the upcoming storm. Zenigata could feel electricity shiver through his hair and at his fingertips even though there was no lightning to be seen just yet. The world as he knew it was on the cusp of a downpour. 

And yet he just walked. Logically speaking, if he wanted to avoid the cold bite of rain, he should take the bus and ride it as close to the cottage as he could get, and then maybe he’d hitch a ride with a polite stranger the rest of the way. But he just… He  _ didn’t.  _ He walked aimlessly, hands stuffed in his pockets, expression completely blank.

He was too afraid to go back right now. Too afraid to face Lupin and the others, too afraid that all of this was some mean, awful joke that the gang was playing on him, making him feel welcomed (maybe even  _ loved)  _ before just pulling the rug out from under him. 

But, countering that awful feeling of dread, he also just wanted to see that silly little thief again. Wanted to do simple chores with him, wanted to dance with him, wanted to snuggle up on the couch with him. He missed the weeks he had spent at the cottage, missed not feeling like an idiot and a burden. But most of all, he missed  _ Lupin.  _ That fucker was all that he could think about, and he just wanted… just wanted  _ him.  _ There was nothing else to it. 

The thrum of a bassy song drew his attention to a bar similar to the one Fujiko had found him in. Gross and ratty and looking very run-down, but it had one main difference: it was happy. 

From where he stood, he saw two women share a sweet, affectionate kiss through the window, smiling into each other’s lips as a few passersby whooped and cheered. When they parted, they were laughing and hugging, swaying softly to the beat of the music. 

Next to the couple was a group of young friends, kids who had possibly just gotten their ID, or perhaps even managed to forge fake ones. They sat in a booth, drinking beer bottles and sharing a big plate of chips and some sort of sauce, maybe guacamole, maybe a strange fondue, Zenigata couldn’t tell. One of them was obviously deep in a story, waving her hands about enthusiastically, and the other four were absolutely doubled over with laughter. Heads pressed to the table, tears streaking down their faces, mouths opened as peals of enthusiastic, ecstatic joy simply spilled from their lips. 

Zenigata turned on his heel and began to walk again, his pace quickening ever so slightly. Why was he running away from something that would make him feel so  _ good?  _ He turned a corner, trying to remember where he had found the bus stop. Seeing those friends, seeing that couple, the inspector realized just how deeply he longed for such a connection, how painful it was to live his life knowing that he would never have anything even  _ half  _ as good as what he had just seen. 

But did it really have to be like that? Did he really have to keep up this constant game of cat and mouse, have to keep up the charade that he didn’t love Lupin with all of his heart? Why did he deny himself all of the happiness that had been waiting for him at that little cottage for so long? What  _ was  _ he afraid of? 

From a distance, he caught sight of a blue and white bus as it puttered to a stop, and he ran with all of his might to make it in time to board. 

\---

Zenigata’s head rattled as it rested against the window of the bus, the glass cold against his skin. He was surprised how far out it was taking him; he expected it to stop within city limits but it kept going and going. The road had made its transition from solid, concrete to gravel and was now at dirt, causing the ride to be just that much bumpier. 

The rain had finally come, soft at first, but soon crashing down against the roof of the vehicle with an almost scary force. It was loud and harsh, and the inspector watched with tired eyes how the droplets dripped off of the windows, fast and frantic and never stopping. 

It was some time around four or five in the morning, and he hadn’t slept a wink. He was very tempted to take a small nap in his seat, eyelids growing quite heavy as he stared at the world zipping past him. But, for some reason, he just couldn’t. He was afraid that he would miss his stop, that it would be another awful day of aching before he was able to see Lupin again, before he could explain how he felt and that he was sorry, before he could get the chance to kiss the thief soft and sweet as he had dreamt of doing for years now. 

Fields of emerald green and cowslip, fields that he had missed an awful lot while he was with Fujiko, passed by in mere glimpses. Farmhouses and barns and fences and silos hurried by, turbines and electrical poles quick to follow.  The sky was swollen and dark, and Zenigata just sat staring the entire time. Head against the window, slightly shivering at the cold, growing more and more uncomfortable as the time slipped on by and shifting in his hideously patterned seat. The bus ride from the city to the countryside took about an hour, so he really should have been prepared to wait for quite a while. But he was growing impatient and very cold and he had too much to say.

Just when he began to grow  _ too  _ antsy, the bus suddenly puttered to a halt, and he was met with a small bus stop (a bench with an overhang above it to protect from the rain) submerged in grasses and vines. Wildflowers and heaps of clinging ivy slunk around the legs of the benches, and the sign that stated that this was, in fact, a bus stop, was almost completely obscured by foliage and greenery. 

“Monsieur,” the driver said, and Zenigata looked up. She was very obviously speaking to him, especially considering nobody else was on the bus anymore. He blinked owlishly, standing up from his seat slowly, legs a little numb as he made his way to the entrance of the bus. 

“Merci,” he said softly, and the driver nodded sweetly. 

“Au revior!” 

With that, the inspector was left standing alone beneath the overhang of the bus stop, staring silently as the driver turned around and sped off back in the direction of the city. 

He recognized this path-- it was the one he had passed it when he first left with the sweet old man with his huge mustache and ancient red truck. From here, it was just a straight shot to the cottage.

The rain practically fell in sheets around him, and he sat down on the bench, shivering and exhausted from staying up the entire night. His heart hammered in his chest and he just stared down the road. Was he really going to do this? Was he actually going to go and see Lupin? Was he really going to just lay his heart at the thief’s feet and beg for him to understand? 

He took a deep breath, standing up. 

Fujiko had been very right. He  _ was  _ afraid. He was absolutely terrified. 

And with that final thought, he stepped out into the rain, immediately getting soaked right down to the bone as he made his way back to the beautiful little cottage he missed so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i feel the urge to stop writing for a second and give my bird a little kiss (so i do)


	11. the softest request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenigata comes back to the cottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey watch this  
> *yearns for my friends until i pass out cold on the kitchen tile*

The exhaustion of staying up all night and now walking in the pouring rain was beginning to weigh hard on Zenigata’s fatigued form. He didn’t really know how long it would take him to reach Lupin’s cottage at the pace he was going-- shoulders hunched, head down, pressing forward against the harsh push and shove of the wind-- but at least he knew he _would_ get there. The dirt path from the bus stop (mostly mud, now, his shoes squelching and digging into the cold, cold earth with each labored step) was a straight shot to the homes and farms that sat along the sides of it, with the only roads leading away being the ones that served as pathways up to the front porches of the old, cozy homes. Because of this, it _definitely_ wouldn’t be difficult to locate the thief’s place, even in this sheet of hard, freezing rain. 

He could hardly wait to be back inside the wonderful, familiar little building.

Despite its shitty space heaters, there were blankets and a furnace and lanterns. The kitchen was never cold because something good seemed to always be cooking in the oven, and the water in the bathtub and shower was comparable to the luxurious warmth of fucking hot springs. It would be warm and safe inside, full of laughter and love and a certain intimacy that the inspector never really had before.

...That is, of course, if Lupin would even let him back into the house. 

His head began to swim with all of the _what-ifs_ that plagued his mind. _What if he hates me? What if he kicks me out completely? What if he doesn’t forgive me? What if the past several weeks had meant nothing to him? What if he was really just trying to lure me into a false sense of security? What if? What if? What if…?_

Zenigata’s hands trembled when he paused a moment to look down at them. Perhaps this was a bad idea. Should he just turn around? Abandon this completely? He really had overstayed his welcome; his gun wound was healing significantly well, and though it still hurt, he was able to move around and change it on his own. He could easily fly back to Tokyo, live out the rest of his days quietly, let himself recover on his own. However, the bus stop was fairly distant now, he didn’t know how long it would take for the bus to actually arrive, and he wasn’t going to wait. If he had already made it so far, why stop? 

So he kept walking. Ankles splashed with mud, shoes slipping, clothes completely sopping with no hopes of saving them. His hair clung to his skin, and he could see the droplets of water on his lashes. It was hard to focus. 

He glimpsed to his side as he walked, taking note of how the greenery would lash to and fro violently. It really was like a viridescent ocean; the weeds and wildflowers and tall, uncut blades of grass rolled as though they were waves angrily crashing against one another. He paused a moment, taking his time to soak up the countryside as it was doused. 

The inspector was quick to continue, however, when a crack of thunder accompanied by the tell-tale flash of lightning partially blinded him. He’d rather face the humiliation of being hated by Lupin than get fried alive. 

Zenigata’s eyelids were beginning to droop, and every movement was no longer a determined step but rather a painfully strained shuffle, his feet barely lifting off the ground anymore as his shoulders slumped, resigned and dog tired. He was used to burning the midnight oil, _especially_ when it came to Lupin, but this was… different. It had been preceded by nights and days focused on how bad he had fucked up, hours spent barely getting a wink of sleep as he tried and failed to piece together just what the hell had been _happening_ lately.

He was definitely a separate type of tired; it was pure, unfiltered fatigue, and it weighed down on his very bones in a strange way that could only be described as suffocating. 

His heart beat too fast, his stomach churned, his head rushed. His hands were quaking, shivering so violently, whether from cold or from nerves he had no way of knowing. He felt just the slightest bit dizzy, and each step was really starting to get harder and harder, as he had gotten firmly stuck in the mud quite a few times. 

Maybe now, he thought with disdain, was the right time to give up. He’d go to one of the closest buildings, ask for a bit of shelter, and just stay on whichever porch he was allowed to (with any luck, though, said house would be abandoned and he could simply wait out the storm beneath the overhang, give or take a few holes in the roof). 

So, although he was completely and utterly ashamed to do so, he decided that it was his best bet if he didn’t want to catch cold. He lifted his head, having to squint against the constant thrash of the wind and the rain, and saw exactly what he was looking for. 

A brick cottage, with a cozy little verandah out front. There were wind chimes on the porch and a rusted old weather vane spinning rapidly atop the roof of the home. The lights were on, warm and very inviting in the angry dark of the storm. 

The closer he got, the more he was able to make out: there was clinging ivy snaking up the side of the brick and up the beams of the verandah. The yard could almost be considered overgrown, as many wildflowers and weeds made their home, unbothered, by the little stone pathway leading up to the door. 

Closer and closer he moved, legs beginning to give out, exhaustion taking over as his body slowly began to understand that he would finally be able to _rest_ for a moment. He caught a glimpse inside of one of the windows, and he saw yellow. Warm, honey-mustard yellow. A kitchen, apparently, due to the refrigerator. Behind the glass of the closed window stood a pair of curtains, white and lacy and-- 

Oh. 

Zenigata stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at Lupin’s cottage and, in return, Lupin’s cottage stared right back at him. As much as a house could stare. 

This really was the place, wasn’t it? Same curtains, same yellow kitchen, same brick walls, same verandah. And-- sure enough, when he looked across the muddy road-- same meadow with the same barn and same eggshell blue house with the same off-white trim. He sucked in a deep breath, and this time he _knew_ his heart was racing from nerves. 

Well. 

Now there was _really_ no turning back, was there? 

After hesitating for a moment or two or three or eight, he began his awkward, trudging shuffle towards the house. Sudden adrenaline shook away all of the exhaustion, and he quickened his pace, breathing growing ragged and eyes growing blurry. Was it rain, or was he crying? Genuinely, he didn’t have a clue. But he didn’t care; it didn’t matter. He was very close, now, pushing his way through overgrown weeds, wild poppy mallow and lilac meadow saffron kissing his ankles. His heart pounded. He was so close. 

Before he could even register what was happening, he was nose-to-wood with the door, and he was breathing very heavily and he could barely move a single muscle. Was he cold? Or was this fear that was holding him? He rose a shaky, unstable fist. Should he knock? Should he even _be_ here? His stomach twisted in disgusting, tangled knots when he thought of Lupin answering, his soft, smiling face falling into disappointment, or, even, curling into a sneer when he saw who he was facing. 

Maybe he deserved that, though. And without any further thought, he rapped three times on the creaky old thing, hoping with all of his might that nobody would even answer. 

Oh, God.

Why did he do that? Why did he knock? His breath caught in his throat, and he froze up, so pumped full of adrenaline that he couldn’t even move. He should really, really run. Or hide, maybe. Or just--

“Zenigata,” 

Goemon stood at the door, Jigen right behind him. Both of them had wide eyes, and they looked over the soggy, pitiful inspector with a look that he didn’t recognize at all. And then, one from Jigen that he _did_ recognize. 

The gunman pushed Goemon aside gently, walking in front of him with two, quick strides from his unruly long legs. Zenigata knew exactly what was coming, and just as he began to put his hands up--

_Thwack!_

\--there it was. 

He stumbled back on his feet, holding his nose in his hand, covering the spot where Jigen had landed a full sucker-punch on him.

“You idiot!” He yelled in his angry, gruff voice. “Look at you!” 

“You’re the one who told me to come back!” Zenigata whimpered. His adrenaline was still spiking. 

“I know! I’m not even angry at you! I’m just frustrated!”

“Then why are you still yelling at me?!” 

Jigen held up his fist again and Zenigata yelped, cowering beneath his trembling arms. However, instead of another solid punch (or even a swift kick to the gut), a hand fell heavily atop his shoulder. He peeked through his arms. 

“I can’t believe both you _and_ that monkey of a man are both so stupid,” he grumbled, frowning, his hat tipped over his eyes. “get in. You’re soaked through,” his voice was gentler, though it never lost its gruff edge. It probably never did, Zenigata thought, and he followed the gunman inside a little hesitantly, kicking off his shoes before he entered

Goemon was much gentler than his other half, and he pressed a firm yet comforting palm to Zenigata’s back. “You look tired,” he said softly, looking the rumpled man up and down. The inspector only nodded for the time being.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he responded after a moment of silence. Goemon hummed his reply, nodding his head in understanding. 

“You’re dirty as hell,” Jigen interjected suddenly, and Zenigata looked down to see his ankles and a very large area of his pants splattered with mud, leaves and other bits of foliage clinging to him as well. 

Before Zenigata could say that he would take a shower, before he was able to promise to clean up any water or mud he tracked in, before he could say a single thing, his nose twitched and he sneezed into his elbow. 

God. Fucking. Dammit. 

The tenseness in the atmosphere melted, and Jigen threw his head back laughing. Goemon, at least, had the common decency to hide his little snigger behind his hand, and the inspector just groaned and sniffled. 

“I guess I should’ve seen this one coming,” he mumbled, beginning to walk (carefully, as to not get the floors too dirty) towards the bathroom downstairs. About halfway out of the entryway and a quarter into the hallway leading to said bathroom, he turned his head. 

“What’s up?” Jigen snorted, still recovering. 

“Where’s Lupin?” 

There was a pause, and both Jigen and Goemon looked at one another with shocked expressions. 

“Oh fuck-- _Lupin!”_ Jigen sighed in exasperation and quickly went in the direction of the kitchen. Zenigata could just barely see as he took the cream-colored phone off of the wall and began to punch in numbers. 

“Lupin went out looking for you,” Goemon explained softly, and Zenigata blinked. “I’m sure you already know, but he cares quite a lot for you, Zenigata,” 

The inspector frowned softly, turning around fully. 

“He… he does?” He asked, worrying his lower lip. 

“Of course,” the samurai’s reply was very quiet, and without another word, he nodded politely to Zenigata before going off to accompany Jigen in the kitchen (who was talking in a huffy, brash manner to somebody on the other line).

Showering helped. It was pure _bliss_ to be under that hot stream of water, to be scrubbing off the now crusted mud that clung to his skin, to be rubbing himself over with the fragrant soap that Lupin kept in the house. 

He closed his eyes softly as he scrubbed his hair, which had been getting a little too greasy for his liking. He hadn’t washed it since that first night at Fujiko’s-- which, in all honestly, was a little disgusting. But it was normal for him, especially when he was on Lupin’s case, chasing him down every time he managed to slip away, never having a chance to stop and focus on his _own_ health. 

It was strange how much he truly didn’t want to catch the thief anymore. It didn’t matter to him. He could steal the whole damned Empire State Building and Zenigata wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. He could do whatever the hell he wanted, and the inspector wouldn’t care at all. 

Did he still want to capture Lupin? 

Yes, absolutely. But it was different, now. 

He closed his eyes as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair (Lupin’s brand; it smelled just like him). Yes, he wanted to capture the thief, but not to take him into the station. He was almost ashamed to admit that the capture he had in mind was for far more… selfish purposes. Like picnic dates and languid days spent lying around. Lazy kisses and smiling at nothing and laughing at utter nonsense. Cuddling while they watched the best movies together, going to a theater for the _worst_ movies and sitting in the very back, tossing popcorn at the people in the lower rows, kissing through the boring parts, giggling too loudly at the awful jokes.

He’s thought about Lupin before in… certain situations. Many, many years ago, he remembers that first night where he jerked awake, drenched in ice-cold sweat, heart threatening to pound right out of his chest and break all of his ribs, images of milk-smooth skin and arching backs and nimble fingers and dark, scruffy hair still burned in his skull, not knowing how to feel at all as he lifted his blanket and saw what he already knew had happened. 

He had run to the bathroom that night, puking his guts up until he was sputtering and coughing and dry heaving over the toilet bowl. And then he threw his sheets away before taking a cold shower.

That had been when he still hated Lupin; because at one point, he did. It was after he pushed his wife and only daughter away with his sick obsession. He wanted to kill the man. Wanted to shoot him and see him die and just stare at his cold, limp body. He wanted awful things to happen to him. 

It didn’t take long for those feelings of hatred and rage to reveal their true selves. It was self-loathing. Jealously. Longing. 

It took a while, but slowly, Zenigata began to lose his dislike for the thief. He was frustrated and loud and annoying, yes, but he didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t want to make him unhappy. The moment he realized this, the awful, uncomfortable dreams of desperate scrabbling and rough hands and disgusting, angry, teary hickies faded into nothing. He would never again wake up sick to his stomach and knowing that his body had completely taken over. 

It was nice for a while, and he was content with this. Not disliking Lupin, but still needing to arrest him because that was his job. It was freeing, and for a few years, there was no remorse, no guilt, no shame. No anger or hatred. His only regret was trying to actually hurt the thief for so long, but other than that, it was the thrill of the chase, of sometimes being able to work together, of seeing Lupin as a human being and not some object of destruction that completely ruined his life because he could. 

No, Zenigata had fucked himself over, not Lupin, and though it took time, he managed to accept that fact. It still hurt, yes, but he didn’t blame anybody else. 

Now, though, things were different. They were so, so different. Lupin was no longer somebody he was forced to chase, but somebody he wanted to. All for the simple fact that he wanted to see the sweet, charismatic, monkey-faced thief, wanted to share that little connection that they always did right before the hustle and bustle began. The softening expressions as their gaze met, Lupin breaking out into a small smile, that soon widened into something cocky and playful. Zenigata pretending to be upset about it as he began to barrel towards the man, having to force down a smile that was bound to come through one day. 

He had wanted Lupin since day one. Sure, in the beginning, it was all anger and pure lust and pain, but it softened out over time. Into something quieter, something that Zenigata didn’t exactly know what to do with, how to handle. He hadn’t felt that way for somebody else since his wife, and those awful, gut-wrenching pains that occurred in the very start slowly began to become gentler until they were butterflies, fluttering with feather-light wings. 

He had learned to mostly accept himself, to mostly forgive himself, and though it was still something he had to learn, something he had to struggle with… he was okay. The self-loathing, the ache of old memories, all of it-- it was still there. But, instead of hiding beneath the mask of anger and hatred that such things often did, it sat at the bottom of his stomach, a sort of heavy, stone-cold sadness that no longer stemmed from hating Lupin but rather, himself. 

Zenigata turned the water off, already missing the heat of it against his skin, suddenly feeling very sleepy as he toweled himself off and slipped into the sweater and boxers (both provided by some of the clothes that Lupin’s grandfather had laying around, and both already fitting much, _much_ more than anything that he had worn at Fujiko’s) Jigen had slipped into the room as he cleaned himself off. The exhaustion of walking in that awful rain and staying up all night and having a terrible week of crying and regretting and hating himself more fiercely than he ever had before finally came down on him in one, big rush. 

The minute he made it upstairs and into that room he missed so much, curtains drawn to reveal the ever-raging storm outside, stained glass wind chimes still casting those shimmering shapes across the fat patchwork blanket, he climbed beneath the covers and was out like a light.

\---

Zenigata was awoken by the awful, sharp pain in his own head. It was throbbing terribly, each pulse sending a wave of horrid aching throughout his entire body. He opened his eyes slowly, taking note that it still raining, and, according to the clock on the small radio beside his bed, it was now well into the night, just about 11 PM. He must have slept the whole day away. Which, he supposed, wasn’t too unheard of, especially considering the fact that he had been awake for so damn long. 

Another thing he realized (a little slowly, much to his embarrassment) was the fact that the radio was _on._ Soft, old songs spilled from the speakers, quiet and gentle and helping him focus on something other than his splitting headache. He definitely caught a cold, no doubt about it. 

The sensation of something soft coming down-- over and over, almost rhythmically-- on his thigh, drew him out of his haze. A peal of thunder ripped from the sky, and for a moment, lightning flashed through the window before the world went dark again (other than the little thrift store lamp beside his bedside table, which, apparently, had been turned on, but not by his own hand). He shuffled beneath the sheets, making a small, sleepy noise in the back of his throat as he sat up. 

Lupin’s hand stopped patting his leg, and his head lifted from where it sat on his knees, which were folded to his chest and clad in flannel pyjama bottoms. He was wearing a sweater, too, something much too big for him and a dark, coffee brown, and a little bit moth-bitten. Something that Zenigata recognized from a very long time ago when it went missing from his hotel room.

His face was bathed in a soft, warm glow from the lamp, little droplets of blue and green and red mixing in on his cheek from what little light the wind chime was able to get off. His eyes were wide and dark, lips parted slightly, and he just stared at the inspector, sad and quiet. He looked heartbroken, and Zenigata was sure he didn’t look any better. 

“L-Lupin,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. “I--” he bit his tongue for a moment, unsure of whether or not to speak. But when the thief turned his body to face him, gaze flicking across the inspector’s tired, tired face, it all spilled out. 

“I’m so sorry,” he choked, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t-- I didn’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean to get so upset with you. I _wasn’t_ upset with you, really, I was upset with myself. I was scared, terrified, even, of how I felt. How I felt being away from Interpol, how I felt being nursed back to health by the enemy, how I felt when I was just so vulnerable around all of you, how I felt--”

Zenigata swallowed hard, tears beginning to blur his vision. 

“--about… A….bout _you,_ Lupin.” he whispered. He was so quiet, he wasn’t even sure whether the other man heard him. 

“It scares me how you have such a big effect on me. That a single glimpse from you will render me useless. I mean I-- I used to _hate_ you! Like actually, genuinely hate you!” Lupin was shuffling slowly closer, but the inspector didn’t really notice or care. He had to get his point across. “And now I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with myself. Not when I lo…” He choked on the word they both knew he was trying to say and he didn’t try and longer. 

“Lupin, listen,” he tried again, softer this time. His voice shook. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I’ve been such a burden on you, that you had to take care of me when my sorry ass couldn’t get away from a single gun. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to put up with all of the bullshit I throw your way, I’m so sorry that I… That I stormed out that day, I really am.” He took a deep breath. 

“And I know you probably _hate_ me, I know you’re probably so mad at me and you probably wish things were just back how they were, and I understand. I just wish I could fix it, I just wish… You understood how much you mean to me. I’m sorry,” he could barely speak anymore. “this is all my fault, Lupin, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so…” 

“Koichi.”

And this was all Lupin said before he leaned forward and kissed Zenigata squarely on the lips. 

They were soft. They were soft and sweet and tasted like everything the inspector had thought they would. Like sunshine and wildflowers and raw honey and cigarettes and something so very _Lupin._

The thief pulled back, but his face was still close, so close that Zenigata could see his eyelashes, and the dark, deep brown of his eyes, and the little scar that rested just on the bridge of his nose that was so tiny he had never seen it before. 

And then, just like that, without saying anything more, they were kissing again, Zenigata’s hands on Lupin’s cheeks and Lupin pushing him down gently to the mattress, shuffling to swing his legs over each side of his body, straddling his waist. 

Each time they separated and joined together again, it was like a volt of electricity. Each little graze of Lupin’s fingers as they slid up to comb through his hair, each soft puff of breath, each missed shot where they would accidentally kiss the edge of each other’s mouths before going back… It left the inspector seeing stars beneath his eyelids. 

Lupin slowly drew his mouth down, kissing the inspector’s cheeks, along his jaw, down to his neck. His hands slowly dropped to tilt his chin upward so that the thief could have easier access to Zenigata’s throat and collarbone, lips lingering at his pulse, pressing a slow, long kiss the very area the inspector’s heart beat against his warm lips. 

“Lu….pin,” the inspector breathed, shivers shooting up and down his spine. Instead of replying, though, Lupin fell back into his mouth. For a moment, Zenigata’s eyes fluttered open, and he saw how the other man’s were squeezed shut, how there was pain on his face, his eyebrows furrowed. The thief pulled back, still wearing that aching expression. 

“I was so scared that you’d already gone back to Tokyo. When Jigen told me that you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore, I…” his voice trailed off, and the inspector could see the way his tears clung to his quivering lashes. 

“I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry,” Zenigata whispered, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the skin beneath Lupin’s eye. 

“Stop apologizing, please, please,” the other man whispered, using his hand to direct Zenigata’s own to his lips and kissing his palm. “Zenigata, why didn’t you believe me? Why couldn’t you just _see?”_ He whimpered, and a tear slipped down his cheek and pooled on his chin. 

Zenigata could only stare as Lupin cried, lips brushing ever so slightly to his palm. 

“I love you, and I have loved you, for years. It’s taken me a while to realize, but I have never felt so passionately about anybody else before,” his voice was barely above a whisper, so quiet that only Zenigata could hear it. “I want you to believe that. I want you to believe how I feel because I know you don’t,

A small hiccup escaped him, and Zenigata opened his mouth to try and say something, to try and apologize once more, to try and make the thief feel better, but he was stopped when Lupin’s free hand came to rest against his cheek, thumb tracing the inspector’s red, kiss-swollen lips. 

“I’m going to kiss you and touch you until you understand that I love every single part of your body,” he murmured, closing his eyes softly as he turned to kiss the soft inside of the inspector’s wrist as though he were proving his point. “I know it will be hard, I know that you still need to arrest me, but please, please just _let me...”_

Something about the way he said it, something about how he squeezed Zenigata’s hand against his face a little tighter, about how his voice cracked, about how he slumped over, exhausted and defeated…

“Please just let me love you.” 

With that, Zenigata pulled Lupin down, his nose burying into the thief’s chest as he rolled them both over to their sides. He felt Lupin’s arms wrap around his neck, felt the way he bowed his head so that his mouth rested against the inspector’s hair. 

“Please, please, please…” He repeated in that broken voice, Zenigata squeezing tightly to his middle as he buried his face deeper into the sweater that Lupin had stolen from him, his own scent long since replaced by the thief’s. His fingers curled into the fabric across Lupin’s back and he did everything he could to bring the two closer, to lose himself in the man that he loved _so much._ He felt soft, deliberate kisses being pressed to the crown of his head between Lupin’s pleas. 

“I’m scared, Lupin,” he whispered, his own voice quivering. He felt the thief’s hold on him grow tighter. “I’m so scared. I don’t want you to feel this way for me because I… I just… I’m too weak, you make me so weak and I just can’t be strong anymore. I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to lose you. I’m _scared._ I don’t want you to change your mind, which I know is so selfish but I-- _”_ he let out a soft whimper. “I _love you too much,”_

“I won’t let you go, and I know you’ll protect me. Because we love each other, okay?” Lupin sobbed into his hair, though it was quiet and subtle and instantly, Zenigata knew his walls had come crashing down and he would never be able to build them up again. “I trust you. And I know you trust me. So I’m not going to let you go, and I’m going to stay in your arms, and we’re going to be okay,” 

He pressed another kiss to the inspector’s hair. 

“I promise, Koichi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me (very tall at five feet and four inches, has opposable thumbs, can read): our economy is in shambles
> 
> my dog (little and small standing at only around 2-3 feet, soft eyes, does not know what economy is): peenutte bubter


	12. small gestures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a full night kissing and sobbing into each other, Zenigata isn't entirely sure where he stands with Lupin at the moment. One sure thing is that he's sick, and Lupin's laugh is very warm, and for the first time in what seems like years, he feels so _safe_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i just planned the rest of this fic,,,,.... we're in the home stretch now boys

It was still raining when Zenigata felt himself stir into half-consciousness. The radio was relaying the morning news, and the lamp on his bedside table was still glowing. He didn’t open his eyes, not yet; he was too warm, too comfortable, too buried beneath his covers to even _want_ to wake up. He willed himself over and over to fall asleep again, forcing his eyes to stay shut and trying to clear his mind of anything and everything.

That is, of course, until he remembered what happened the night before. 

With a gasp, he wrenched his body upward, tossing the blankets off of his upper half in the process. This was, in hindsight, an _awful_ idea, because he instantly felt a chill completely overwhelm his body and he groaned, slowly lowering himself back to the mattress. The _empty_ mattress, he realized with a pang in his heart. 

Because, of course, this whole thing had been a dream. Lupin would never… _feel_ that way for him, or even begin to think of him like that in the slightest. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ignore that awful headache that was back from last night with a vengeance. Walking in the icy rain for that long and, in general, just not keeping up with his health would most _definitely_ cause him to catch a nasty little cold. Why didn’t he realize that? 

He started to shuffle beneath his covers, trying to burrow into the bed itself, when a soft knock at the door caused him to freeze completely. He popped his head up from his blanket cocoon. 

“I’m coming in!” Chimed a familiar voice, and the doorknob turned slowly before something thunked into the wood. It took a moment, but after a few shoves, in stumbled Lupin, still in the pyjamas he had been wearing last night, holding a mug of something that smelled _heavenly_ in one hand and a bottle of aspirin tucked firmly beneath his armpit. 

“Lupin,” Zenigata sat up, blinking owlishly at the criminal. Blush crept onto his cheeks, warming his entire face and making him wish that he hadn’t had such a tender dream with the man (despite how much he secretly liked it, despite how so very _real_ it felt). 

“Morning, beautiful,” Lupin said sweetly, and his voice sounded completely earnest when he added the affectionate term. “I can’t believe I didn’t catch your cold, though I guess I should consider myself lucky. After kissing you all night, I could have sworn that my immune system would kick the bucket,” 

“You kissed me?” The inspector asked before he could stop himself. Lupin was setting the mug and bottle of medicine down when he turned to face the bedridden man, looking concerned for just a moment. 

That moment, however, did not last long, and he broke out into soft laughter. 

“How sick _are_ you? Of course, I did, silly, did you think you were dreaming?” 

“Yes,” Zenigata answered quickly. Lupin blinked. 

“Wait, actually? You really thought you dreamed that whole thing up? I cried in front of you!” 

“I… I know. It just seems too good to be true though,” 

“Don’t say something so sweet,” the thief’s voice grew gentle, and his eyes sincere. He leaned forward, steadying himself by planting his hands on the bed, and pressed a long, slow kiss to Zenigata’s forehead. “I’ll just want to kiss you even more, and then I _will_ get your cold,” 

“So you actually--? Um, you actually meant it?” Zenigata looked down, his face now burning. “Everything you said last night? I wasn’t just having a weird fever dream?” 

“Of course, I meant it!

“Sorry, I just…” he let his voice trail off, instead opting to look up, smiling shyly at the thief, who was positively glowing at this point. “Sorry,” he repeated, knitting his brows together. 

Lupin merely hummed, offering one last kiss to the inspector’s cheek before fully sitting on the bed, mattress sagging underneath the new weight, and he reached over to carefully take hold of the mug on the bedside table. He shuffled his sleeves until they covered his palms, and used the little makeshift oven mitts to lift the hot ceramic container and bring it closer to the inspector. It was only now that he noticed the little spoon, glinting off of the light of the lamp, clinking about inside of the mug. 

“I made it this morning,” Lupin chirruped, looking very pleased with himself. Gingerly, the inspector took the mug from him, looking down at the contents. 

Chunks of carrot, potato, onion, and leeks, among other assorted vegetables floated around inside of a thick, gold liquid. The top of it had a lustrous glow, and when Zenigata pushed the soup around with the spoon, it only aided in releasing that heavenly aroma. 

“I wanted some vegetable soup, and both Jigen and Goemon said that it sounded like a good plan, especially when it’s pouring outside like this,” he turned away, and the inspector gazed in awe as the back of his neck and the tips of his ears grew warm. “but, if I’m telling the truth, I mostly did it because I wanted you to get better,” 

“Lupin I don’t know what to say,” Zenigata’s eyes were wide, and he pressed the mug closer to his body, relishing in the warmth curling off of it. The thief turned back towards him suddenly, a guilty little smile spread across those wonderful lips. 

“I won’t lie, though, it’s for a very selfish reason! I just wanted to kiss you again,” he laughed, and the inspector became very suddenly enamored with a little piece of carrot in his homemade soup, cheeks burning bright and butterflies erupting in his stomach. The idea that _Lupin_ wanted to kiss _him_ was something that never, not in a million years, would he ever even consider. But the thief had just said it, simple as that, no big reveal, no grand gesture. It was just something that he let slip, easy and comfortable and almost out of the blue. Using every last ounce of his courage, still looking down, busying his hands by scooping up a spoonful of Lupin’s cooking, he dared to speak in a hushed voice. 

“I don’t mind that,” 

And as he had that first taste of soup, the thief giggled, expression softening into something warm and sweet, eyes twinkling like stars. He had a dimple in his left cheek-- it was very shallow and almost unrecognizable as such, but it was there, and Zenigata was surprised that he had noticed it for the first time. 

The soup was _incredible._ The vegetables were absolutely bursting with flavor, softened by the broth, which was smooth as silk and tasted like pure bliss. Zenigata was surprised at how hungry he was, and he ate with vigor, Lupin chatting happily with him all the time. He was talkative--though that didn’t really surprise the inspector-- and he never really said anything of significance. He just talked, and Zenigata listened, placing the mug back on the bedside table as he slowly let himself fall back into the pillows behind him. 

“Here, take this, it’ll help you get better,” Lupin smiled softly as he opened the bottle of aspirin, shaking out two white pills into his hand. “I’ll get some water so you can swallow them,” 

“It’s fine, I’ll just dry swallow,” Zenigata reasoned, letting the thief drop the small objects in the palm of his hand. Lupin shook his head. 

“You need to drink lots of water, anyways. It’ll help your cold go away,” he smiled, standing up off of the inspector’s bed. He picked up the dishes on the bedside table, stretching softly, raising his arms above his head. “I always have to keep nursing you back to health,” his voice was warm and held no accusation, though Zenigata lowered his head shyly anyways as the thief laughed and exited the room. 

It was definitely strange to be talked to like… like _that._ By anybody, really, not just Lupin. Zenigata just wasn’t used to such warmth, didn’t know what to do with it at all. It scared him, really; he didn’t want to slip up, to lose something so sweet, so sacred. The love he felt deep within the confines of his chest was precious to him, and it could often be overwhelming. He had no idea what he would do if he accidentally broke it. 

If he was being honest, he still didn’t know where he and the thief stood. Yes, they had kissed and hugged and revealed their feelings and kissed some more, but what did that _mean?_ Was Zenigata going to go back to Tokyo and continue to chase Lupin, keep trying to arrest him? Would this game of cat and mouse end, or would one of them finally just _stop_? 

Lupin, he was sure, would never stop being a thief. It was simply in his blood, just as much as Zenigata’s position as an esteemed detective was in his. If it hadn’t been for their family names, they wouldn’t even _be_ in this situation. But here they were, tied together by fate, destined rivals always meant to be pitted against one another. 

The only problem was, however, Zenigata had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to do _now._ Now that he had tasted Lupin’s lips. Now that he was currently being taken care of by said man. Now that he had fallen and fallen _hard_ for the very person he was supposed to be chasing.

The door of his room shoved open once more, Lupin nearly tripping over himself as he protected the glass of water in his hands. “Damn door,” he grumbled softly, kicking it shut. “always swells up like this when the weather’s a little drizzly. All of the doors in this whole house do, as a matter of fact,” he scoffed, his frown easily turning to a sweet, warm smile, one that made it feel like they had been doing this for years. 

Zenigata smiled back. His concerns could wait for now. He was not going back to Tokyo just yet, and why should he ruin such a wonderful moment? Overthinking had caused him pain before, had caused him to run out and make rash decisions and gave him the worst hangover of his life, and he wasn’t going to make that same mistake. He was here, he was now, and Lupin was approaching the bed, holding out the glass of water. 

“There you go,” he grinned as the inspector took it, the tips of their fingers brushing oh so softly as he did so. He threw back the two pills, chugging the water until he drained the cup, which he placed with a contented sigh back on the table. Lupin chuckled. “aren’t you supposed to sip when you have a cold?” He grinned, sitting back down on the bed. Zenigata opened his mouth to say something, but, with a furrow of his eyebrows, closed it again. Lupin only laughed louder, leaning back into the mattress, reaching out to gingerly pick up Zenigata’s hand. 

“Won’t you get sick?” The inspector asked, worried. Lupin shook his head, smiling all the while, and whether that meant he wouldn’t or he didn’t care, Zenigata wouldn’t get to know, for Lupin began to talk again. His voice sounded nice alongside the rain, which was now pattering gently on the window. 

Zenigata cracked his eyes open slowly, though he hadn’t realized they had closed in the first place. Sunlight, though it was weak, was streaming in from his now open window, those curtains he loved so much fluttering in the faint, petrichor perfumed breeze. The clouds, he saw, were no longer grey, but instead fat and white and fluffier than candyfloss, the sky a soft, light blue.

He sat up and stretched, back popping a few times as he did so, muscles releasing any tension that they may have held. The cup next to his nightstand had been refilled, he noticed, and the radio had been turned off. Lupin must have done this, he thought, a small smile touching the corners of his mouth. 

The feeling of the thief’s hand intertwined with his own, of his voice, of his gentle laughter as he talked Zenigata to sleep was enough to fill the poor lovesick inspector’s chest with warmth, butterflies erupting in his stomach. They weren’t unpleasant, and certainly not unwelcome as they fluttered about, leaving him feeling giddy and lighter than air. 

His head had cleared up a little more, but he was definitely still very congested and very sick. With a few deep swallows, he managed to empty his water glass once more. Lupin had told him to sip, but his body was terribly thirsty, and he wasn’t even sure if there would be much of a difference; water is water, after all. 

Swinging his legs slowly out of bed, he pulled his fat, patchwork blanket over his shoulders, securing it in place and tugging it around himself until his entire body was hidden in fabric and goose-feather stuffing. Despite the sunlight streaking across his mattress, warm and comforting and inviting, he was still immensely chilly even though, at the same time, he was sweating slightly. 

He slid off of the edge of the mattress, feeling it spring up now that he was no longer sitting on it as his socks made contact with the carpet below. He stood, a little bit wobbly, and made his slow, shuffling way to the door. His blanket dragged behind him, pooling at his feet and slowing him down just the slightest bit.

Fingers slid out from beneath his puffy cocoon, grazing the cool metal of the doorknob, which he hesitated to grab at first. Slowly, he turned it, having to yank back quite violently in order to just _open_ the stupid thing. Old houses always had doors that got so swollen during rainstorms that they just _had_ to keep shut no matter what, there was nothing he or anybody else could do about it. It was just one of those things, small and insignificant and not often thought about that made living just a little bit more endearing. 

The very moment he stepped outside, music from downstairs greeted his ears, and just how was Zenigata going to suppress his smile at that? It reminded him of slow dancing in the kitchen, rain pummeling the house, light low, Lupin’s nose buried in his neck, his breath warm and soft. The mere memory of his skin sent shivers up and down the inspector’s spine, and he gently bumped the door closed with his hip as he shuffled towards the stairs. 

Taking hold of the banister, he went down each step slowly and carefully as to not slip or jostle too much. His cold was beginning to give him another headache; he could feel it pulsing at the base of his neck, and had no intention of angering it even more than he already had. 

“Ahh, sleeping beauty! She wakes from her hundred years of slumber,” Jigen’s voice teases from somewhere below, and as Zenigata carefully goes down the last few steps, he catches sight of the gunman resting comfortably on the big couch in the sitting room, Goemon meditating beside him. Or maybe he was just asleep. 

“Shut up, I’m sick,” Zenigata frowned, but his voice was playful and there was a small glimmer in his eye. He scanned the room, noticing that Lupin was nowhere to be seen, and found the source of the music (an old wind-up record player; it looked almost like an opened suitcase, with antique red velvet lining the inside, a very expensive looking needle pressing against a slowly spinning record that caused Louis Armstrong’s deep, smooth voice to fill the entire room).

“Your boyfriend’s not here right now,” Jigen interrupted his train of thought, and heat quickly rushed to his cheeks. 

“Wh--huh?” He sputtered, unsure of whether to lie or accuse the gunman of eavesdropping. He raised his hands defensively as Zenigata struggled to find words, tipping his head upward so that his eyes peeked out from beneath his hat. 

“Calm down, calm down. Yes, I know, we all do, it’s so _obvious_ how much you two like each other,” he laughed, gesturing to the chair that sat adjacent to the couch. Zenigata shuffled over, sitting down slowly, letting the blanket pool out and swallow him whole as he did so. “and besides,” Jigen continued with a chuckle. “Lupin just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. This morning, while he was making that soup that I’m sure you ate, he just couldn’t help spilling his guts all over the kitchen floor. Told me everything that happened last night,” 

Zenigata blinked owlishly, feeling more embarrassed by the minute. He frowned. “Uh-- everything?” He asked sheepishly, which caused the gunman to laugh even more. 

“Yep! Never knew you were such a good kisser, Pops! I’m surprised, I thought it had been so long since your last relationship that you would have completely forgotten,” 

“Hey!” Zenigata huffed. Goemon opened one eye with a frown. 

“Ooh, look who’s back from the other side. Hi,” Jigen grinned, and with an affectionate burst of confidence, leaned in to press an annoyingly loud kiss to his face. It was strange to see the gunman show so much openness with his relationship, but that just seemed to make it all the sweeter. The samurai’s other eye wrenched open, and his expression was panicked, as though he had just been shot at. 

“ _Daisuke!”_ He exclaimed, still frantically glancing between Zenigata and Jigen. 

“You’re such a prude,” Jigen teased, ruffling the other man’s hair. 

“God, I feel like I should be paying for this show,” the inspector laughed, though it was weakened ever so slightly with a cough he caught in the crook of his elbow. Goemon’s face flushed completely, and he brushed his significant other away with a flustered huff. 

“Well I suppose there’s no hiding it, now,” Goemon managed, crossing his arms, eyebrow twitching ever so slightly. 

“Hiding it?” Jigen barked, leaning into the samurai’s body naturally as he laughed. “Poor baby. You realize both Lupin and Pops knew, right? Fujiko, too. There’s never been any hiding it.” 

It took a little while, but Goemon eventually managed to come out of his shell just a bit, even beginning to take part in the jokes that the other two men were firing off at each other. The atmosphere was only further livened when the front door opened, and Lupin stepped into the cottage, yelling 

“Honeys! I’m hoo-oome!”

as he clattered around in the kitchen for a little while, the rustle of paper bags loud for a moment as he placed their contents inside of shelves and cabinets. Finally, he burst into the sitting room, eyes lighting up the moment his gaze fell on Zenigata. 

“Look who’s up,” he smiled, his voice dripping with affection. 

“We’re here, too,” Jigen griped, and Lupin laughed jovially, plucking the gunman’s hat from his head and placing it atop his own as he hopped over the back of the couch to sit on the armrest. 

“Where were you?” Zenigata asked softly, still swamped in blanket.

“Well, Pops, I’ll have you know that the sweet old lady across the way invited me over again. Called me up and said she hadn’t known I was even here! We had a nice long laugh about it, especially considering the fact that it’s been just about two months,”

Wow. Two months! Imagine that, Zenigata thought fondly.

“It took her _that long?”_ Jigen asked, Goemon nodding beside him. 

“I wonder if she’s suffering from dementia,” the swordsman said matter-of-factly, and Lupin swatted him lightly on the back of his head, not enough to move him at all, but so that his hair was ever so slightly mussed up. 

“Lighten up, geez! She’s just busy all the time and it isn’t like we go out very often. Cut the poor thing some slack! Anyways,” he said, continuing his story. “I walked over to her place with my umbrella, and when I got there she was all excited and setting up the kettle to make coffee,” he waved his hands about, dramatically retelling his mundane visit to the old farmer, fingers fluttering about. “I sat down at her table and we just talked and talked and talked. Did you guys know she’s married, but her husband is always traveling? He comes home to her every so often, and neither of them mind being so far apart,” 

Lupin’s gaze drifted to meet Zenigata’s gaze, and he _knew_ they were thinking the exact same thing. The inspector smiled softly as he continued. 

“So we had coffee, we talked about all this and that, so on and so forth. But anyway-- now for the _good part--_ as I was leaving she shoved all these paper bags in my arms! Said they were to ‘keep me growing,’” he laughed, the affection for the eccentric old woman very obvious in his voice. 

“So, what’d she give you?” Goemon asked, craning his head to look at Lupin’s face. 

“Cheese, wine, jam, and bread!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up joyfully. “And this is like-- the _good stuff._ Thing’s she’s made herself,” 

“We’ll have to thank her properly someday, she always does things like this for us,” Jigen smiled, before furrowing his brow and reaching out his hand to Lupin. “and, by the way, _gimme my hat back!”_

“Want a refill?” 

Zenigata looked up from where he sat on the steps of the verandah. The sun had gone down an hour or so ago, and the little string lights on the porch had been taken from their dusty home in one of the hallway closets and set up in a matter of minutes, glowing merrily against in the velvety darkness of nighttime. Up above, the stars glimmered, the moon in an elegant, fat crescent shape. Fireflies glowed in the yard, weaving between the weeds and wildflowers, blinking in and out of existence. 

“No, thanks, I’m still working on mine,” Zenigata smiled up at Lupin, who was hovering over him with a bottle of wine. They had decided to throw a little party out on the verandah, even going as far as to put on their regular clothes (Zenigata was able to wear his _own_ shirt and tie and slacks, as now, they were clean), though none of them cared enough to wear shoes, either going barefoot or in woolen socks. It was to celebrate… nothing in particular, really, but just small, very insignificant things. Such as the wonderfully delicious gifts given to all of them by the sweet farmer, the end of the rain, the wonderful scent of the air, the beautiful night. 

Yeah, that was just it. They were celebrating the little things in life. 

“Alright, but tell me if you want more so I can get it for you,” 

“I can do it myself,”

“No, you _can’t,_ silly, you’re so sick and weak,” Lupin teased, sticking his tongue out and winking as he went to a foldable table they had brought out, setting the wine back down. The cheese and bread were nearly gone, having been instantly ripped into and enjoyed greatly by four very tired men. 

“It’s just a little cold!” The inspector huffed as Lupin came next to him, sitting down. Their shoulders pressed together. Zenigata’s ears were filled with the sound of Jigen laughing loudly, the wind-up record player skipping for half a second before continuing, the buzz of crickets and _whoosh_ of the wind. The tinkle of wind chimes. 

“I don’t care,” Lupin said firmly, nudging his elbow gently against the other man’s side (which was, of course, still wrapped up in his blanket). 

Zenigata closed his eyes softly, taking in the beautiful night air as it brushed against his face, kissing his cheeks and caressing the tip of his nose. “It’s so nice out, isn’t it?” He hummed, leaning, in turn, against Lupin. “It’s almost as good as the night we went skinny dipping. Almost. It was _really_ pretty out, then,” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Lupin chuckled softly, and Zenigata turned to face him. 

“We literally stargazed for hours while we were drying off, you idiot, how would you not know?” Zenigata snorted, but his playful expression quickly softened when his gaze caught Lupin’s own, the thief’s eyes holding a smile just as much as his lips, warm and inviting. 

“I wasn’t looking at the stars then, Pops,” he replied simply. For a moment, Zenigata had no idea what he _possibly_ could have meant by that. If he wasn’t looking at the stars, then what? The trees? The pond? The grass? No matter what, he still would have to notice how clear the air was, how nicely the scenery added to the atmosphere. 

Unless… 

Zenigata quickly turned away, flustered, cheeks hot and cherry-red as Lupin tossed his head back and _laughed._

“You really didn’t notice me staring?!” He asked, leaning his head against the inspector’s shoulder. 

“Shut up, you!” 

“God, you’re so oblivious,” 

“I said shut _up!”_ Zenigata groaned, pushing the thief’s face away with his hand. Lupin only laughed more, nuzzling into his palm, pressing a quick kiss at the base of his thumb. 

When he lowered his hand, the inspector was smiling, eyes looking over Lupin’s features with care, the ghost of a laugh still on his lips. The thief sighed, wearing a very similar expression, leaning a little closer. 

“I’m cold,” he said sweetly, only loud enough that the inspector could hear. “got room for two beneath that blanket?” 

“But won’t you get sick?” 

“I’ll be alright.” 

With that, Zenigata opened his arm, letting Lupin scooch in and nestle comfortably in his side as the inspector drew the blanket back over them, letting the thief take the end of it and pull it tighter while his own hand lowered and came to rest at Lupin’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Comfortable?” Zenigata asked softly, resisting the urge to kiss the man against him. 

“More than ever,” Lupin replied.

“Ewww, PDA!” The gruff sound of Jigen’s voice drew both of their attention to the man behind him, who was currently dancing slowly with Goemon (who looked away with shame as the two pairs of eyes fell on him).

“You’re one to talk!” Lupin stuck his tongue out, nose wrinkling ever so slightly at the bridge. 

“Geez, I hate such touchy people,” Jigen grumbled. “don’t you agree?” He asked, pulling Goemon closer, their noses brushing together lightly. 

“Jigen sometimes I wish you had the common decency to shut up,” the samurai groaned, and Zenigata laughed aloud as a warm, comfortable, familiar feeling blossomed in his chest that he hadn’t experienced in far too long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is so out of character and so silly what the fuck gjrendk im so sorry to anyone reading this thinking any of it is practical at all,,,, this is probably one of the most self-indulgent things ive ever written,,, h
> 
> anyways im feelin very soft tonight!!! please everybody take care of yourselves and wash ur hands and practice social distancing!! we'll get through this fiasco together, and just think of how so very _good_ it will feel to see your friends again!!!!


	13. it's okay, i don't mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their time at the cottage is drawing to a close, and so Zenigata and Lupin make the most of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for real this time!! also fixed zenigatas age in an earlier chapter i forgot he's Old. and another thing!! very sorry for the late chapter, went to give my brother some supplies!

“You would think that they’d at least be a  _ little  _ worried,” a cigarette was produced from a small, sparkling clutch, and was promptly slid between a pair of plump lips stained red. Fujiko had come down from Marseille, asking whether or not the rest of the gang was going to leave soon. There was a doctor working in Kyoto who supposedly had some of the  _ finest  _ collection of jewels anybody had ever seen. She didn’t want to go alone, but would if it turned out that Zenigata was still in hot water for helping Lupin and had to stay at the cottage with the other three.

“Maybe they just don’t like him,” Jigen suggested from the round kitchen table, feet kicked up on the wooden surface. 

“ _ Jigen,”  _ Lupin turned to face his partner, accidentally sloshing a bit of his coffee onto his hands. He hissed, and Zenigata chuckled. 

“I mean…” he said awkwardly with a little shrug, gesturing towards Jigen with his head. “I don’t know if you’d be wrong,” 

“I’d have to agree with the Inspector,” Goemon added, sitting across from Jigen at the table, legs crossed atop his chair. Fujiko laughed, blowing a cloud of smoke out of the open kitchen window. 

It had officially been two months since Zenigata first arrived, and everyone was beginning to get just the slightest bit antsy. Without a heist to plan or  _ something _ to steal, there wasn’t much to do besides look out at the pasture, and even that got boring after a while. The inspector had really meant to leave sooner-- maybe phone one of his colleagues, force himself away and get better on his own time, but he just. Couldn’t. For one, he hadn’t expected to be completely knocked out for a few weeks in the beginning, so that set him back  _ quite  _ a bit, but there was also the fact that he had accidentally realized his feelings for Lupin. And that set him back  _ years,  _ and now, he didn’t ever want to leave. 

However, there was work to be done. He still had a job, still had to earn a living  _ somehow.  _ Paychecks, no matter how small, are still paychecks. He just hoped that Jigen’s little joke ( _ was  _ it even a joke? He knew how bad he was at what he did…) turned out to be untrue.

It was high time he left. Gun wound fairly healed over (there was already an ugly, pink patch of skin forming beneath the stitches), he was more than qualified to go back to work. But there was still that little… issue, so to speak, of whether or not he would be accepted back into the Icpo task force. And he was definitely worried about whether they would allow him to stay on Lupin’s case after it seemed like he had been working with the criminal. Hopefully, though, he would be able to tell (some) of the truth, and they would believe him. 

He would certainly miss the little cottage-- the nights spent listening to the radio, drinking cocoa with Lupin (they had continued to do that when Zenigata came back, falling right into their little routine once more as if nothing had ever happened. Except now, the occasional kiss was stolen!), the smell of the rain, the sound of those gorgeous stained glass wind chimes in his room, the view of the meadow and the relaxing clank of cowbells out in the pasture across the way. He would miss the wildflowers and the relaxing, cozy atmosphere of the entire house, and most of all, he would miss spending so much time with Lupin. The smell of his hair, the softness of his skin, the taste of his lips and how the inspector felt when their gazes met. 

However, he knew that all good things must come to an end at some point, and this was certainly one of those instances. Even though it was upsetting and he would find his old life at least a trillion times lonelier and it would lack all of the peaceful charm of the Provencal countryside, it was just a fact he had to face, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

“There certainly hasn’t been any more news about the heist I pulled when we first got here,” Lupin said, hopping up to sit on the counter. “but that doesn’t mean anything. Publicity may have faded, but you never know whether or not Pops here’ll be trusted enough to go back,” 

“We’ll have to find out for ourselves, I suppose,” Fujiko said simply, taking another drag of her cigarette. The curtains fluttered as the breeze brought in the scent of apple blossom and slowly ripening peach trees. In the summer, the air would be alive with the sweet, sticky aroma of orchards all across Provence, and Zenigata regretted that he would miss it. 

“Okay, but you  _ do  _ realize that they hate us too, right?” Jigen arched his eyebrow, or at least his tone of voice suggested he did so. Nobody could see whether his eyebrow was actually raised or not-- his hat was in the way.

“Yes, dumbass. We won’t be going as ourselves,” the redhead snapped, glaring daggers into the gunman, who was busy snickering and leaning back further in his seat. 

“That isn’t a bad idea, though,” Goemon turned in his chair to look at her, and Fujiko beamed. 

“See! Finally, someone who agrees with me,” 

He shrugged, turning back around.

“Alright, but what about Pops?” Lupin asked, frowning softly from the counter. 

“What about me?” Zenigata blinked at him. 

“Say we do go back to check it out and see whether or not the dust has settled. Say we wear our disguises and sneak on in and ask around and see what Interpol says. But now, consider this,” he put down his mug of coffee, using both hands to paint a little picture for the group. The inspector smiled fondly at his need to be expressive as he talked. “Zenigata--disguise or not-- is clumsy. Sorry,” he tossed a glance at the inspector, who flushed. 

“I’m not that clumsy!”

“No, no, let him talk, he’s got a point,” Fujiko interjected, and Zenigata looked over at her with an offended expression.

“Fujiko!” 

“I’m sorry, Pops, but I’m right!” Lupin exclaimed, offering his sweetest smile, and just how could Zenigata stay annoyed at a face like  _ that?  _ “Anyways. So dear, sweet, wonderful Zenigata is probably the clumsiest man I’ve ever met. Even if he  _ is  _ wearing a disguise, something may happen, and his cover may be blown. And what if they’re still upset with him? Think of how pissed they’ll be when they find him sneaking around, hidden in a disguise. With  _ us  _ of all people!” 

The whole room seemed to ponder this for a moment or two. He was right. As much as Zenigata didn’t want to admit it-- stealth missions were  _ not  _ his forte. He had two left feet and a loud voice and legs far too long for his body that got stuck in  _ everything.  _ And if Interpol was mad at him now, Lupin was right about how much worse it’d be if they found him sneaking around with a band of some of the most well known and wanted criminals in the world.

“Maybe he should stay here, then,” Jigen suggested, crossing his arms in thought. “We’ll be gone a few days, but he’ll be fine on his own. You’re what, Pops, sixty-eight? Plenty old enough to take care of yourself,” He turned to face Zenigata, who scowled. 

“Forty-three, jackass,” 

“Isn’t your birthday coming up soon?” Lupin asked from the counter. “You’re practically, forty-four, one year behind forty-five. Which means you’re practically fifty,” 

“Thanks for helping me stand my ground,”

“My pleasure,” he grinned and tossed a little wink Zenigata’s way, who rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. 

“Anyways,” Lupin turned to face his partner. “I think it’d be for the best that he stays, but the idea of leaving him alone here makes me nervous,” 

The inspector looked at Lupin, a little shocked that he’d say something like that. He felt his heart sink for a moment; sure, he had it coming. No matter how comfortable the two got with each other, he was still the cop and Lupin was still the thief. He was still chained to the law and the government, and, because of this, it was still his duty to report any of the thief’s hideouts. But still. He couldn’t help but feel a  _ little  _ hurt. 

Lupin must’ve caught his look, for he smiled warmly, scooting closer on the counter to Zenigata so that he could place his hand on the inspector’s shoulder. 

“What I  _ mean  _ is that I don’t want you to be found here. As kind as our neighbors seem, there’s still a chance I’ll be reported if someone recognizes me and what I do. If I have the cops busting down the cottage, we’ll both be in trouble,” 

“You don’t think I’d call and report this place?” Zenigata looked up at him, genuinely surprised, and the thief laughed. 

“Sure, I have no reason to believe you would. I know you’re still nervous about Interpol hating your guts right about now, you wouldn’t dare let them know your location,” 

“You’ve got a point there,” Fujiko hummed, cigarette still burning loosely between her lips. “consider keeping this place secret as a form of payback, old man. For, you know, saving your ass,” she smiled. 

“I wouldn’t call them anyway,” the inspector huffed, a little ashamed and embarrassed that they would all really think that, if it weren’t for his fear of being in trouble with his boss, he would have this gorgeous cottage torn down. Even  _ Lupin  _ thought that. “this place has no evidence at all.” 

That was definitely a lie. That painting in the sitting room alone--  _ A Picnic in May  _ by Pal Merse Szinyei, which was quickly becoming one of his favorites simply due to its connection to Lupin-- was enough to have this whole place on lockdown mode. They had been looking for the painting for quite some time over in Hungary, and would definitely like to see it once again. But Zenigata didn’t care a single bit. This place was too sacred to be torn down by the likes of the ICPO. 

“Well, whatever the case may be, I seriously doubt he would call the cops over,” Lupin continued as if nothing had ever happened. “for as long as we’ve been playing our little game, he’s usually been pretty fair. And besides, he’s such a sentimental fool that he’d feel guilty about ruining anything from anybody’s ancestors!” the thief laughed, and Zenigata reddened. He was right. “That being said, I’d still prefer it if one of us stayed behind with him. Just to make sure he’s safe,” he added the last part a little hastily. 

“I can do it if you want,” Goemon offered. “I’m the best with medicine. Don’t forget who treated his wound. If it starts acting up suddenly, I bet I could fix it in no time,” 

The room’s occupants nodded and hummed their agreement, even Zenigata thinking that it would be a good idea. As much as he loved the idea of staying with Lupin, it was better to be safe than sorry. 

“No, no, you should go. They’ll need you during the operation,” Lupin piped up quickly, receiving a knowing smirk from Jigen. “besides, if they think that he’s working with me, who’s to say they won’t see me and then think that Zenigata is behind the whole thing?” 

“Isn’t that the case with all of us, though?” Jigen asked, mouth curling into a shit-eating grin. Lupin reddened, eyebrows furrowing and mouth drawing into a little pout (one that, Zenigata noticed shyly, was  _ very  _ cute). 

“But me especially,” he snapped, crossing his arms. Jigen laughed, loud and teasing, and Lupin had never looked redder. The rest of the room was… understandably confused at the pair and their antics; no matter what happened, no matter who Lupin kissed, he would probably always be closest to the gunman. They seemed to share a telepathic connection. 

When Zenigata threw Lupin a quizzical look, he grew even redder, cheeks burning hot as he whipped his head away, flustered. 

“So I guess it’s decided, then,” Fujiko clapped her hands, deciding to ignore whatever had just happened. “Lupin, you stay with Pops at the cottage, and you two can come with me. You have disguises, don’t you?” 

“Oh, do we  _ ever,”  _ Jigen chuckled, swinging his legs off of the table and setting them firmly on the kitchen tile as he stood. “I’ll go find our phony cop get-ups, and Goemon, you and Fujiko can go wait in the car,” he said over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen and towards the staircase. 

“I suppose I’ll see you soon, then,” Goemon stood, tucking his chair back underneath the table and turning calmly to Lupin. “Zenigata,” he began, and the inspector froze, standing a little rigid. He had been talking and laughing and joking with Goemon for almost the entire time he was at the cottage. In fact, he talked to the samurai most of all for the first few weeks since he would come in and dress his gun-wound. But it was still strange being addressed so formally by someone. 

“Er--hm? Yes?” He sputtered. 

“I hope the ICPO has forgiven you,” he smiled, small and barely noticeable, but still there. Zenigata relaxed. 

“Thanks,” he returned the expression with a small sigh of relief as Goemon followed Fujiko out the front door. Moments later, Jigen was clamoring down the stairs with a fat, tightly-fitted suitcase, presumably filled with the disguises. 

“We’ll call you when we’ve figured it out,” he grinned. “Lupin, go easy on the poor fella’,” 

Zenigata was not able to wave goodbye or even ask what he had meant by that, because Lupin plucked an orange from the fruit bowl on top of the refrigerator and chucked it at the gunman. He caught it with a loud bark of laughter, quickly slipping out the door before he was able to be attacked by any other citrus fruits that Lupin may weaponize. 

“God, he can be insufferable sometimes,” the thief sighed with an exaggerated groan. 

“What was that all about?” Zenigata snorted, arching his eyebrow and going to take Jigen’s place at the table. The sound of Fujiko’s car engine revving up and crunching gravel as she backed out of the driveway could be heard through the kitchen window. 

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Lupin pouted, taking a moment to compose himself. The inspector heard the engine of the car grow faint as the three others drove away. 

“The hell did Jigen mean, anyway?” 

“Well, I mean, he was  _ right,  _ I just hated how cocky he was about it!” 

“Right about  _ what?”  _ Zenigata was lost. What was being planned here? Were they ganging up on him? Pitting against him? Or maybe it was just a weird, intricate inside joke that only the two of them were in on.

“Well, you know, you could actually stay here alone. I know you’d never tell any police about this place, I trust you. I didn’t  _ have  _ to stay with you...” 

“Oh?” 

“...but how else would I be able to get you alone to myself?” The thief’s lips curled into a little smirk, and Zenigata’s eyes widened. 

“O-oh…” He managed to stutter through fumbling lips. Lupin’s expression softened. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” He teased affectionately. 

“Ah-- n. No,” Zenigata’s voice was small, and he looked down, blushing heavily as he heard Lupin shuffle across the kitchen floor, stopping right behind his chair. He laughed, bringing a hand down to cup the inspector’s cheek, tilting it up and leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose. 

“Calm down. I  _ am _ a gentleman, you know. I’d never do anything to you unless you wanted me to,” he hummed, letting his lips drag up the bridge of the inspector’s nose, pressing several languid kisses along the way until his face was nestled comfortably in his hair. He was quick to get quite intimate when it was just the two of them, huh? Zenigata definitely didn’t mind, though. 

“That felt weird,” he smiled referring to the sensation of lips lightly dragging up his face. 

“Bad weird?” 

“No, no. Good weird,” he laughed, immediately feeling himself grow more comfortable. It was strange how they already acted like such a long-term couple-- perhaps they should’ve just given in to each other months ago.

“Good,” he murmured, voice slightly muffled from the black hair that his lips were buried in. 

“ _ Where  _ the hell are we going, if I may ask?” Zenigata called to a very enthusiastic, very uppity Lupin, who was at least ten steps ahead of the inspector. He had called for a day out, saying that it was far too beautiful to spend their time all cooped up in the cottage. And now, the two were trekking up a grassy hill, cowslip, and aster brushing at their ankles. 

“You’ll see!” Lupin giggled, turning around to face the inspector as he hopped along. Truly, the only word to describe the vigorous way he was moving was  _ frolicking,  _ and it very well fit as he strode forward in literal leaps and bounds, disturbing little yellow butterflies that hid in the lush, green grass.

It was still fairly early, and though there was no dew left lingering on petals and leaves, the sun had already begun to warm the grass on the hill. 

As they neared the top, Zenigata was able to truly appreciate the scent of the breeze and the sweetgrass. It hit him in waves, and he would close his eyes each time, inhaling deeply. In the city, he barely even got a  _ glimpse  _ of fresh air. 

He would miss that about Provence. He would miss a  _ lot  _ of things about Provence. 

But those thoughts could wait, for right now, he was focused on the gorgeous figure of Lupin as he touched base at the top of the hill, grass swaying around his calves, clad in a homey, beige sweater. It was a little bit too chilly for short sleeves, so they both decided to dress cozily-- Zenigata wore a sweater, too. It was dark brown with cream stripes going across it, and several zigzag patterns colored red and deep blue. A classic grandpa sweater, Lupin had exclaimed proudly as he presented it to the inspector, who laughed said: “Are you making fun of my age, Lupin?”

And then Lupin pressed his smile to Zenigata’s mouth, and they laughed into each other’s lips for just a little bit before heading out. 

“Here we are!” Lupin exclaimed happily, grinning from ear to ear. Zenigata finally made it to the top, standing right beside the thief and looking out over a great, big meadow dotted with poppies. 

“It’s the same as what we’ve been walking through,” he said, a little confused as to why  _ this  _ meadow, in particular, was so special. 

“It’s not the destination, but the  _ journey,  _ my dear,” Lupin lifted his nose, putting on a snooty accent. Zenigata rolled his eyes. 

“Okay, Shakespeare,” he mumbled. 

“No, but really! It’s all about how you get down,” the thief grinned, a sudden glint in his eye. 

And then, he stretched one foot forward and fell onto it. Instead of catching himself though, it folded beneath him and off he went, tumbling down the grassy hill. 

“ _ Lupin!”  _ Zenigata yelped, quickly scrambling to follow. He didn’t  _ mean _ to do that… did he? 

In his haste and panic, the inspector slipped on a patch of soft clover, and suddenly up became down and left became right as he pitched over and went toppling on after the thief, grass, and flowers brushing over his face and hair and… well, his entire body, really. 

The ground, though softened by greenery, still offered no mercy to the inspector, and he could practically  _ feel _ the bruises forming over his arms and legs and abdomen. Dirt rubbed against his face, bits of grass clung to his hair. At some point, he accidentally managed to get a mouthful of clover, which he spat out as he continued his dizzying roll down the hill. 

The world was spinning, faster and faster and faster, it seemed, never stopping for even a moment, never calming or settling. It was a whirl of blue and green and yellow and brown, so many colors blending together until Zenigata swore he was beginning to see stars.

Then, as quick as it had begun, it was over. 

The inspector found himself looking up at the powder blue sky, those gorgeous, fat clouds floating lazily overhead. The grass around him was tall enough to give a tunnel vision effect, and he could do nothing but stare for a moment or two, chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. As he began to calm, he felt a large, terrible ache in his shoulder. Slowly, he pulled the sweater down just a bit, to see a large, angry red mark. It was scraped to hell, and in the middle, a small cut sat bleeding. He must’ve hit a rock on the way down. As he pulled his sweater back up, he absently wondered if Lupin sported any battle wounds from the treacherous fall--

Lupin! 

He sat up with a jolt, blinking owlishly as he was met with nothing but a seemingly empty field. Maybe he had fallen at an angle, and Lupin was a little further away? Maybe he had gotten up and gone somewhere--though there was really nowhere to go. It was pretty much impossible to hide in such a wide, open space. 

A peal of laughter erupted into the crisp, clear air, drawing his attention behind him. He turned, looking out and seeing absolutely  _ nobody. _

“Lupin?” He asked the grass. A spot about five meters away rustled, and suddenly, the thief’s head popped up from the grass, which was apparently much taller than Zenigata had originally intended. 

His head went back down, and he disappeared once more. Loud rustling disturbed the flora and fauna alike, small brown and yellow butterflies flitting away from their spots in the ocean of green to find somewhere more peaceful to drink their nectar and spread their pollen. 

The rustling grew closer and closer and closer until-- 

“Gotcha!” Lupin exclaimed, emerging from the flowers and clover and tall, tall grass, startling the inspector to his back. Immediately, he climbed atop him, resting his hands on either side of Zenigata’s face. 

There was dirt on his cheek and forehead and nose, and bits of poppy stuck out from his unruly hair. Clover clung to his sweater, and there were several scrapes along his neck and hands. He smiled down warmly at the other man, knees on either side of Zenigata’s waist. 

“Hello,” Zenigata greeted simply, gazing up at the thief with stars in his eyes. 

“Did you enjoy your trip?” Lupin snickered, and the inspector rolled his eyes softly. The thief sighed, bringing up one hand to rub a bit of earth from Zenigata’s face. 

“It hurt a lot,” 

“It did. I loved it,”

“Oh, God. You aren’t a masochist, are you?” Zenigata teased, and Lupin laughed loudly, tossing back his head in that way he often did, his shoulders shaking. 

“If I  _ was,  _ I would probably be in a more committed relationship with Fujiko.” 

“I thought you loved her,” Zenigata frowned, not expecting Lupin to say something even  _ remotely  _ negative about the beautiful girl, joke or no joke. 

“A long time ago, yes. But I’m in love with you, now, Zenigata,” he said it simple and easy, and it rolled off of his tongue as though he had been saying it all this time. 

Although maybe, just maybe, he had. Maybe they both had. 

“Lupin?” The inspector breathed, cheeks dusting a soft red. 

“Mm?” 

“Would it be okay… You don’t mind, do you? I mean-- are you alright with…?” He tried, not really able to get the full sentence out.

“With…?” 

“Oh, it’s been so long. I’m not used to this anymore,” Zenigata humphed, and he turned his face to the side, cheek pressing into the ground below. “would it be okay if I kissed you?” He asked quietly. 

With that, Lupin laughed again. A very soft, quiet, reserved sound, and he used his hand to gently turn Zenigata’s face back towards him. 

“You’re silly,” he breathed, not hesitating to lean down and press his lips to the inspector’s, who kissed back immediately. 

Lupin had this thing he did-- he would hum into a kiss sometimes without realizing, and his lips would buzz and tingle and it just made Zenigata shiver all over. Without even realizing, he found his arms to be wrapped around the thief’s neck, who tilted his head and deepened the kiss. 

Slowly, comfortably, Lupin sunk down into Zenigata’s chest, using his teeth to scrape against the inspector’s bottom lip. He let out an involuntary little  _ ah!  _ against the thief’s lips, who just  _ ate  _ up the small sound, opening his more, implementing more little nips and nibbles. Zenigata absolutely  _ squirmed  _ beneath him, hands slowly sliding down the thief’s body. 

However, when they barely even grazed Lupin’s hips, they shot up and lingered in the air, not daring to touch him. 

Lupin noticed the lack of contact immediately, pulling away. “You alright?” He asked, blinking down at Zenigata, who stared right back up at him. 

“Huh?” 

“Your hands,” 

“My--- my hands?” The inspector asked, arching his eyebrow. Lupin took them in his own, pressing their palms together, sliding their fingers into one another. His smile was soft and gentle and made Zenigata feel like he was the only person in the world.

“Well, they just sort of… stopped, very suddenly. Are you uncomfortable?” 

“No! No, no, sorry! I’m very comfortable it’s just-- ah, well I…” He paused, really not wanting to admit that he was too shy to touch Lupin’s hips. This wasn’t his first time kissing someone, or his first time making out. And, if things got a little bit more… well, if the two had continued at the rate they were going, it wasn’t like he was a virgin or anything. He’s done everything you do in a relationship before, but with newer ones, he’s always been just a bit timid. Especially when they were with people who made him feel  _ this  _ good. 

“I understand,” Lupin smiled. He brought the inspector’s hands up to his mouth and pressed a firm kiss to each and every one of his knuckles, humming into his skin the way that made Zenigata get thrills racing up and down his spine. And then, Lupin placed the inspector’s hands gently on his cheeks. “I’m going to keep kissing you now if that’s alright,” 

“ _ Please,”  _ Zenigata sighed, knowing that for sure there was a dreamy, dopey expression all across his face. He couldn’t care less at the moment. 

This time, when Lupin leaned down and things begin to grow all heavy and sweet and oh so wonderfully warm, Zenigata’s hands planted themselves quite comfortably all across the thief’s body, and any and all hesitation was left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i dont sing to my pets about how stinky they are i think i might just keel over and die


	14. the game ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interpol doesn't hate Zenigata, and he's certainly not in trouble. In fact, they want him back. What does this mean for the two in their safe little cottage, though?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this chapter seems a lil rushed, i dont like it much :-(( hopefully future ones will seem more natural

Zenigata’s shoulder was already starting to show the beginnings of a splendid, glorious bruise from when he had rolled down the hill with Lupin the day before yesterday, the spot in question growing tender and hurting whenever he lightly pressed his fingers into it. 

Lupin had also taken quite a blow from his playful antics-- a nice solid cut rested just above his navel, and he had turned to Zenigata while patching himself up when they got back to the cottage and asked the inspector to kiss it better. Zenigata rolled his eyes but decided that it felt nice to do cute coupley things together, so he gently pressed a little smooch to the bandaid the thief had put over the little notch. 

...And then (and Zenigata wasn’t sure why he hadn’t expected this) Lupin told him to go a little south of that and the inspector swatted him on the shoulder. 

Both of them had been laughing, and something about the entire situation was so very homey, so very casual. Something that Zenigata held almost sacred, though he wasn’t sure why. It was a strange, small type of intimacy that he would certainly miss when he had to go back home and they had to continue their little chase. 

Now, however, wasn’t the time to worry about things like that. Right now, Zenigata was much more focused on the pot in front of him, and the rhythmic sound of Lupin chopping carrots behind him. Occasionally, he would turn away from the stovetop, wooden spoon in hand, and watch those slender fingers cut up vegetables (all picked fresh from the garden in the back), admiring the simple beauty laid out in front of him. This was something that he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

He allowed himself to linger on that point, just for a little bit.  _ The rest of my life, huh?  _ He thought, eyes sweeping up and down the thief’s figure. He smiled, turning back towards the pot of soup. Imagine that! Him and Lupin--  _ married!  _ It was something that would never work. Something that sounded like a joke, and a bad one at that. Although he had to admit, it  _ was  _ a little bit fun imagining it, to entertain the thought of having a spouse. Silver wedding bands, roses, dancing, the whole shebang. 

He shook the funny little thought out of his head and went back to stirring the soup. It smelled nice despite being just broth. 

“I’m done over here,” he heard Lupin say from behind him. Not just broth for long, Zenigata thought, moving aside so that the thief could come up with a bowl full of cut potatoes, carrots, beans, tomatoes, and leeks. 

“Is this the same recipe you used before?” Zenigata asked as the chunks slid into the pot with several plopping sounds. Lupin nodded his head.

“It was my grandfather’s recipe, actually. Very well-loved in my family,” 

“Lupin the First cooked?” 

“Other grandfather,” Lupin laughed, nudging the inspector affectionately with his hip, wearing an expression of sweet, good-natured mischief. “anyways!” he clapped his hands once, turning his body to face Zenigata with a grin. “Now we need to let it simmer,”

“How long?” The inspector asked as Lupin walked backward away from him, to the other side of the countertop. He slid his hand across the top of it, tips of his fingers finding the dial to the cassette player and turning up the volume just a bit. 

“Around thirty minutes,” he smiled, stepping back toward Zenigata with a playful look on his face. “now,” he pondered, the pad of his index finger tapping on his chin. “ _ what  _ could we  _ possibly  _ do in thirty minutes, my dear Pops?” He asked, a little smirk curling onto his mouth. Zenigata’s cheeks flushed. 

“Surely not  _ that,” _ he smiled, arching an eyebrow and leaning against the counter. His heart was threatening to beat right out of his chest. Lupin paused. 

“What? No, no! God, get your mind out of the gutter. I mean, we  _ could,  _ probably. Twice, in fact,” 

“ _ Twice?”  _ Zenigata laughed aloud as the thief continued to walk toward him, relishing in the chills he got down his spine as those fingers he loved oh so much curled around his waist. They laughed as Lupin gently tugged at the fabric of Zenigata’s sweatshirt, getting him to straighten up.

“Yes, I know, I know. I’m just  _ that  _ good. But that isn’t what I meant!” he smiled sweetly, guiding one of Zenigata’s hands to his shoulder, taking hold of the other in his own. 

The inspector leaned into Lupin’s body as the two slowly began to sway. They had decided to leave the main lights off when they began cooking, finding that the golden rays from the afternoon sun provided enough. The entire room held a dreamy, honey glazed glow, one that would catch in Lupin’s face and illuminate his breathtaking features. That wonderful, sharp nose, the accentuated chin, the soft curve of his cheeks. His sweet, pink lips, the little droop of his eyelids when he gazed at Zenigata oh so tenderly, that tiny little scar on the bridge of the thief’s nose. Certainly, he was a thing of beauty, so angelic in all of his perfect, little imperfections. 

“Didn’t know your eyes were that color,” the wistfulness of the thief’s voice caught Zenigata off guard. 

“What, brown?” He laughed, feeling Lupin’s arm snake ‘round his waist and squeeze gently. 

“No, no, they’re gold, almost. Amber, I’d say,” 

“You’re looking too far into things,” 

“I’d say I’m looking just far enough,” Lupin hummed, and they drew just that much closer. Zenigata rolled his (apparently amber) eyes, pressing a soft kiss to the thief’s cheek. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Lupin scolded playfully. “You missed,” and then he leaned up and gently brushed their lips together, hands abandoning their previous position to wrap around the inspector’s neck, pulling him further in. Zenigata absolutely  _ melted  _ into the embrace, his own arms going to hug Lupin’s waist. He closed his eyes, the smell of the thief’s skin, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his body warm and so close-- it was enough to make him fall even more than he already had. 

As they kissed, they continued to sway, not forgetting about the music dripping like molasses from the cassette player’s speakers. It was such a perfectly sculpted moment, too good to be true. And yet it wasn’t-- Zenigata was right here living it.

Lupin murmured something into his mouth that might’ve been a very quiet affirmation of his affections, but it was drowned out by their eager, sweet kissing. Nevertheless, no matter what he had said, the taller man simply devoured his words; they tasted sweet just like his skin. 

This was not a heated kiss whatsoever. It was not desperate, it was not scrabbling and rough. Hands did not shove or pull, teeth did not clash, tongues did not battle for dominance, noses did not crush against one another. It was slow, deliberate, warm and steady. They were taking their time, relaxing into each and every languid touch, sometimes separating to murmur unheard sweet nothings, before their lips met once again. It was deep and it was tender and made Zenigata’s knees a little bit weak. 

When they finally broke the kiss, Lupin pressed his lips to the inspector’s cheek, jaw, neck. At last, hunger satisfied, he rested his head against the other’s chest. Zenigata held him tighter. 

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he mumbled. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. It’s beating so fast, it’s all fluttery,” 

“Stop making fun of me,” Zenigata laughed, fully aware at just how quick his pulse ran every time the thief would kiss him or hold him or ensnare him in a show-stopping, top quality smile. 

“I’m not! It’s cute,” he laughed, nuzzling into the inspector’s chest, sighing sweetly as the two continued their little slow dance. 

It was silly, really, the way they were acting. It made Zenigata feel like a teenager again, all flustered and shy and just discovering what it was to like and be liked by other people. He would certainly never act like this with his late wife-- no, she was mostly all business, arms crossed and head held high. Not to say she was a stone wall, of course-- she was immensely fun. 

But it was just different with Lupin, it seemed. He felt more comfortable, felt more like himself. It was so strange what the thief did to him, how his eyes and his mouth and his hands could send Zenigata to the stars. He was just so… 

...was there even a word to describe Lupin? Probably not.

Suddenly, without so much as a warning, their little dance party was cut short by the ringing of the kitchen’s telephone. There it sat, chiming loudly as it sat on the wall. 

“That must be one of the guys with news from Interpol,” Lupin said softly, pulling away from Zenigata, who instantly missed his warmth. He watched as the phone was picked up, and after a small pause, the thief broke out into a grin. “Jigen, hi!” He exclaimed, curling the phone’s cord around his finger. 

Zenigata went to sit on the small, circular table, sliding onto the top and resting his feet on a chair. He listened with a smile through several little chimes of  _ yep, uh-huh, mmhm, yep, yeah,  _ from Lupin, who was, apparently, letting Jigen do all of the talking. A grin spread across his face. 

“That’s great! Sure, yeah, I’ll tell him. See you soon,” he hung the phone back on the wall, walking over and tugging the inspector off of the tabletop, turning himself like a ballerina in a pas de deux before placing them in a little waltzing position once more. 

“Good news?” Zenigata asked, and the thief nodded. 

“ICPO isn’t upset with you!” He exclaimed. “In fact, Jigen was saying that he talked to your boss-- the commissioner, or whatever-- and  _ he  _ said that they’ve sent out a search party in search of you!” 

“Wow, isn’t that a bit much?” Zenigata snorted. 

“No, not at all! If I lost you, I would send out a search party, too,” 

“Dork,”

“I  _ would!  _ And I know you would, too. Because you have.” The pair shared a laugh, gazes barely lit as the sun slid down the horizon. “But anyway, they’ve already got a few guys in France. Paris, I think, and you wanna know something funny? Those people were sent to get  _ me.  _ They noticed that I’ve been gone, too, and they wanted to see if I fucked off to my home country for a while,” 

“I thought you grew up in Japan,” 

“Until I was six, yeah. But then I came here,” he smiled, a little more animated in his dancing than he had been before. 

“So I guess I should be leaving soon, huh?” Zenigata asked. For a moment, the atmosphere wilted, but it was brought back to life again when Lupin noticed that the soup was ready, and he quickly broke away from the inspector to rummage around in the cabinet and pick up a pair of bowls. He never answered the inspector’s question.

The two sat on the back porch as they ate their soup. At this point, it was dark outside, the birth of a new night. The moon was nearly full, gleaming splendidly against the velveteen darkness of the sky, painting a perfect view for the two to share their meal with. 

Zenigata swallowed a spoonful nervously, not really wanting to bring up the topic of his leaving again. He knew he had to, though. 

“What time do you think I should be outta here by?” He asked, heart aching at the way Lupin stopped eating and turned to him with this quiet, sad expression. “Come on, you know it’s high time I leave,” 

“You don’t have to, you know. You can stay for a little longer,” 

“We both know I can’t, Lupin. It’s dangerous for both of us,” he set his half-empty bowl down beside him, scooting closer and wrapping one arm around the thief, who leaned into him. 

“We can handle danger,”

“I don’t want the police to know about this place, though. We may be strong enough to take a few bullets, but the cottage sure isn’t,” Zenigata rested his head against Lupin’s. “I haven’t gotten paid in a while, either, which means I’m gonna be behind on bills,” 

Lupin snorted. “That’s very true. How much do they pay you, again? Minimum wage?” 

“Seems about right. I don’t know why I still work there,” 

It was a joke, it really was, but as that phrase left his lips, he considered something. Why  _ was  _ he still working there? Other than passion and honor, this and that, yadda yadda yadda. 

At first, he had a very clear reason: capture Lupin, kill Lupin, beat the everloving shit out of Lupin. That was when he was angry and mean and tired all the time. Around the time his wife left him because she saw what chasing after this thief was doing to him. 

But now, he was practically useless to the force. He softened. Lupin had cracked that hard, awful shell, and dug his fingers into the vulnerable flesh of the inspector’s heart subtly and slowly; it took years. And now, here he was, defenseless, Lupin pressing himself to his body as they huddled close on the porch. 

This little situation they had found themselves in certainly did not inspire any feelings of wanting to arrest Lupin at all. In fact, it made Zenigata want to clear the man’s charges and then kiss him until the sun froze over. Wanted to hold him all the time, go on dates and hold his hand when they went out in public (and actually  _ go out in public _ ; they had been hidden away in the cottage forever now), wanted to live a normal life as Lupin’s boyfriend. 

So what if, when he went back, and he was still on Lupin’s case and still had his badge and all this and all that-- what if he  _ couldn’t bring himself to arrest the thief?  _ He was a good citizen, always taking the time to clean up after himself and stop criminals and abide to the law the best he could. But now, something in him had changed.

No, he didn’t want to become a thief and start swiping valuables left and right, but he realized that going back into the force now meant having to chase down, arrest, possibly even  _ hurt,  _ the love of his life. And that thought alone was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach. 

So, he just didn’t think about it. He only squeezed Lupin tighter to his side, nuzzling his nose into his hair. 

“I don’t want you to go,” Lupin said softly. 

“If I’m being honest, I don’t either,” Zenigata replied. “but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to. Even if we did stay hidden, the police would find me eventually, and they’d find you with me. And that doesn’t paint a very pretty picture for us, does it?” 

“No, no. I guess not,” 

“I wish this was easier,”

“Sometimes I do, but I like our little game,” Lupin looked up at Zenigata as he said this, a smile tugging the corners of his lips. “easy is nice, I guess, but it’s fun being chased by you,” 

Zenigata smiled down at Lupin, his eyes growing soft. The game, huh? That damned game. They’ve been at it for  _ how  _ many years again? 

“I like chasing you, too, you know,” 

“I know you do.” 

And there was no further conversation about the topic after that. The two simply soaked up each other’s company, laughing and talking about mundane, meaningless little things. Shoulders pressed together, fingers brushing, grins flashing. It was comfortable, and it was safe, and even though it made Zenigata immensely happy, he couldn’t help but wonder how much that happiness would linger when they went back to Japan. 

“My trenchcoat! It’s-- it’s  _ clean!”  _ Zenigata exclaimed. He and Lupin were packing up a small suitcase for him to take back home, pushing down all of those dreadful feelings of knowing this was their last night together, trying to make the most out of every moment.

“Yup! Washed it along with your suit just last night,” 

“You didn’t have to, Lupin! That was sweet,” 

“Oh, it’s nothin’, Pops,” The thief planted a fat, loud kiss to Zenigata’s cheek, who snorted, gently batting him away as he folded his suit and trenchcoat, placing them in the old, worn brown suitcase with care. 

He was going to sleep in Lupin’s bed tonight, then, first thing in the morning, he’d get into a costume that the thief had already prepared, and would be driven by a disguised Lupin to the airport. 

“Now, don’t forget your cover story,” Lupin smiled, sneaking something that Zenigata couldn’t see into the suitcase. He’d worry about it later, he thought, but for now, he would just need to focus on getting together any clothes that Lupin would let him keep. So far, it was mostly pyjamas, but the yellow blouse and black dress pants were definitely being packed right at that moment. 

“I know, I know. I received a calling card from you in Russia, and then got stuck there because I lost my passport for two months,” he rolled his eyes. 

“That’s the one! They would  _ never  _ suspect Russia. It’s such an obscure place for me to be, and yet it makes total sense! Just weird enough to make it seem true,” Lupin grinned proudly, shutting the suitcase with a click. 

It sat on the bed, lonely and looking very depressing in the light of the lamp. Anxiety clawed at Zenigata’s body at the sight of it. He really did have to leave tomorrow, didn’t he? 

Which brought him to another point, one that he didn’t want to bring up at all. Especially not now, when Lupin was tugging Zenigata out of the room, looking happy and excited about something. 

“Where are we going?” Zenigata laughed. 

“Well, I figured since you’re about to be extremely stressed again, we’d have some time to relax. While you were washing dishes after we ate our soup, I-- well,” he let go, suddenly looking shy. He was still smiling, though. “you’ll see,” he said, leading the inspector down the stairs. 

The two walked silently through the house, wooden floorboards creaking beneath their socked feet as they shuffled along. Down the stairs, through the fitting room, through the kitchen, into the hallway. The air was quiet except for a space heater, which was currently sputtering a bit. It was breaking, probably. 

Finally, the stopped at the bathroom door, which Lupin opened with a flourish. 

“Ta-da!” He grinned, and the inspector followed him inside. 

Not much had changed except for the fact that there were candles placed all around the (empty) bathtub and the sink and the countertop. None of them were lit, though there was a box of matches resting next to one. 

“So,” Lupin began to explain. “remember when we skinny dipped that one night?”

“Of course I do,” Zenigata arched his eyebrow. 

“Well, I thought we’d do it again!”

“This isn’t skinny dipping at all-- you realize that, right?” 

“Small scale,” Lupin shrugged, going over to turn the handle on the bathtub, hot water immediately spewing out. Steam curled off of it as it sloshed to the bottom of the tub, which, and Zenigata was just noticing this now, stood on four, lion’s paw-like feet. Zenigata chuckled. 

“Is this an excuse to get me naked?” He asked, sitting down on the toilet lid. 

“Oh, it definitely is,” Lupin replied simply, not a hint of irony in his voice. The inspector flushed, looking away. 

Slowly, the tub began to fill up, and Zenigata stood to help with the matches. The two went around lighting the candles, giggling at one another, a single glance enough to make them snicker. The situation was odd and funny in some sort of way, but it was still nice. Comfy, safe, pleasant. Familiar, even.

The lights were flipped off, and for a moment, neither of them really spoke or moved until Lupin went to turn the water off. 

And then, suddenly, just like that… pure silence. 

The roar of the water had filled the air, leaving no room for quiet contemplation. But now… Now the mood had changed entirely. There were no jokes, no banter. Just the way the candlelight flickered and the occasional drip of water. 

“I don’t have to turn around this time, do I?” Lupin asked softly, and in an instant, the quiet was broken, and Zenigata was rendered helpless. He shook his head softly, and the thief smiled, approaching him. 

When his fingers slipped beneath the detective’s sweatshirt and slid it up just barely, it felt natural. 

Slowly, the two undressed, not speaking the entire time, until they were down to nothing but bare, scarred skin. Lupin traced a finger against the line of Zenigata’s stitches that sat ugly and patchy on his abdomen. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly. But Zenigata was having none of that, and so he kissed the thief. It was gentle, a mere press of the lips, but enough to get his point across. It was strange kissing him while neither of them was clothed, and even stranger when neither of them had the intention of doing anything other than kissing. 

The water was warm when the two of them slipped in, and it added just a touch of red to both of the men’s cheeks. Instantly, almost as though he were on auto-pilot, Lupin leaned back into Zenigata’s chest, who’s legs went to either side of the thief’s skinny, tiny body. 

Candlelight flickered across wet skin, breathing fell into sync. Hands traced and roamed, the occasional kiss was pressed to bare flesh. For the moment, all was quiet. It was just the two of them, sitting in that tiny bathtub, warm and pressed up to one another as the light from the candles created dancing shadows that spilled across their vulnerable bodies. 

Zenigata closed his eyes blissfully, letting the smaller man leaning against him trace the palm of his hand with slow, deliberate, gentle movements. Sometimes, Lupin would lean down, press a tender kiss to an old scar, perhaps even a new one, before continuing. 

Lupin’s shoulders began to tremble when he reached the base of the inspector’s thumb. Zenigata didn’t dare say a word. 

“Koichi,” Lupin whispered, squeezing his hand  _ tight.  _ “what are we going to do?” 

“I don’t know,” the inspector answered, the use of his name twisting his heart. “I don’t know.” 

“Being like this with you-- it’ll just be so hard. Because of your job and mine. We just… We can’t...” He wasn’t able to finish, and he didn’t try, so Zenigata just pulled him back to lay against his chest. He leaned forward, meeting the thief halfway, stooping to press his nose to the juncture of Lupin’s neck.

“I don’t know,” Zenigata repeated, tears pooling in his eyes. They didn’t sting, though. They weren’t harsh, loud, awful, tears. They were much worse. Much quieter, much gentler, much more gut-wrenching. He did know. He did. He knew  _ exactly  _ what had to be done. And it hurt more than words could describe. 

Lupin knew, too. But neither wanted to say it. He turned, kissing Zenigata’s cheek. The shell of his ear. And when the inspector lifted his head, the thief’s lips found long, trembling lashes, and freckles that were often overlooked on his nose. 

“I’ll miss you,” Lupin whispered, turning around to face Zenigata. His eyes were illuminated by the candles, the shadows softening the edges of his face.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Zenigata replied. That was it. Their little game was over. When they went back to chasing one another, it would hurt too much to be a game anymore. So it was done, just like that-- years of it all adding up to nothing in the end.

They pressed their foreheads together, not speaking until the water grew tepid and cool. And when they dried themselves off and blew out the candles, they clung to one another wearing nothing but boxers beneath thick sheets, not daring to fall asleep, too afraid of what the morning would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i REFUSE to eat during the day now i only ever eat at night its just how my body be


	15. dust bunnies had long since moved in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenigata returns home to his empty apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so so sorry that i missed yesterday's update :-( maybe a bit of a tmi but i had god awful cramps so i just buried myself in the couch with a heating pad,,, (doing much better though!!!) so i didnt quite get around to writing hh. i also know this chapter came in several hours later (i wanted to get it done around 7 or 8 pm)) so im really sorry for that too! my sister and i hung out to play zelda and watch a movie for a while, and so i totally forgot about writing hh
> 
> but thats the only time i'll slack off!!! don't worry i'll be writing the rest of this fic daily like normal <3 thank u all for sticking around, you're such sweethearts!!!

The airport that morning had been crowded, as usual. It was filled to the brim with happy families, friends, and couples, running excitedly to greet each other. Kisses and hugs were exchanged, a few tearful shouts of _bon voyage_ and _adieu_ and _je t'aime_ were shouted from across the terminal. There were smiles and loud, excited chattering, as people both greeted their loved ones and bid them goodbye and good luck on their journeys. 

Despite the positive, joyful energy of the airport, Zenigata couldn’t help but feel as though he had drowned. Because now, as he walked into the terminal, Lupin right next to him, he knew that it was over. He could do nothing to stall what was bound to happen eventually. 

He was wearing one of Lupin’s disguises-- a man with a thick mustache and bushy eyebrows and wavy, chestnut hair. “Ayako,” Lupin had said happily, presenting Zenigata with a fake passport. “one of my most beloved aliases. I use him for travel,” he explained. 

Having a silicon face was certainly very odd. It felt almost like skin but at the same time _nothing_ like it at all. Zenigata had decided as they were driving to the airport in Lupin’s little yellow fiat that he didn’t like it, but it would be better than having anybody recognize him as the missing inspector. 

However, the discomfort of wearing a false face was absolutely _nothing_ in comparison to the goodbye that the two men were forced to share. 

Lupin didn’t want him to leave, and he didn’t want to go. Now that he was lying in his old, uncomfortable bed, Ayako’s face in a trashcan somewhere a few blocks from the police station, shoes and clothes still on, he wishes he had stayed. But he hadn’t.

He had turned to Lupin and smiled sadly and said “This is it,” and nothing else. And then the thief grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, looking at him with his gorgeous, dark eyes. For a moment, he was frantic, pupils darting this way and that, breath shaky, mouth opening and closing as he scrabbled for words. And then, without any further warning, his expression softened and he pulled Zenigata close and murmured 

“One for the road,” 

and pressed a light, tender kiss to the inspector’s lips. And the kiss tasted like Gitanes and tangerines and the salt of tears that he had not known were there. Zenigata dropped his suitcase. He had wrapped one arm around Lupin’s waist, the other cupping the back of his head, and in turn, the thief clung to him _tight_ and _desperate_ and _hopeless._

The kiss was not hungry. It was not playful. It was not lustful. It hurt more than the bullet wound in Zenigata’s side, and he wished it had lasted for eons longer than it did. 

But it didn’t.

Because he had to go.

And that was it. 

With that final kiss, everything-- the dancing, the cooking, the laughing-- it crumbled to nothing. And he boarded that plane and flew back to Japan. 

He changed back into his work clothes-- slipping off the layers of one of Lupin’s more robust relative’s suits in a dingy gas station bathroom and tugging the mask off, dumping it in the trash-- before trudging to the police station with heavy bags beneath his eyes and a broken expression painted across his face. 

He was asked fervently by the commissioner where had he _been?_ was he okay? was he abducted? 

Zenigata relayed the fake story to the man, and that seemed to be enough. He was forced to take a week’s vacation to recuperate, and he didn’t argue. 

And all of that led him to where he was at the current moment. Lying in bed, staring up at his ceiling, the fan moving slowly, creaking with every turn it made. He was tired. Everything hurt. He missed the cottage too much. So he closed his eyes and forced himself to just _sleep._ When he woke up tomorrow, he would feel better. He would clean, make himself a proper meal, get dressed in fresh clothes, maybe even go out for a bit. He had a week to kill. 

Usually, he would use a week like this to research Lupin’s whereabouts, see what his next heist would be, make sure that he hadn’t dropped any recent calling cards or leave any other sort of clue that may help Zenigata sniff him out. 

But for the first time ever, he didn’t need to do any of that. He knew where the thief was. And he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t care about arresting him, didn’t care what he took or who he took it from or how he took it. He could steal the whole damn world, and Zenigata would still not care. Because now he just felt _drained,_ every single bone in his body aching with a hidden type of hurt that was worse than anything the inspector had ever felt before.

He knew that goodbye kiss would be the last one he’d ever share with Lupin because they just couldn’t work in the real world. That was how things were, and that was how they were _always_ supposed to be.

With that thought lingering in the foreground of his tired, tired mind, he finally felt his body sink fully into the mattress, and the world around him melted away as he fell asleep at last.

The next morning, his eyes fluttered open, warmed by a gentle beam of sunlight that streamed in through open windows. If he focused _hard,_ he could hear the gentle fluttering of curtains. A breeze danced across his face, perfumed by apple blossoms, tickling his nose, which twitched gently. His blanket was warm and soft and plush, and his mattress soft, holding his tired body with care. Cowbells clanked in the distance...

Zenigata shot up into a sitting position, wrenching his eyes open, his keens pulled up to his chest as he whipped his head around to look at his surroundings. It was just a dream! The airport, the goodbye kiss… all of it was just a bad--

oh.

The inspector’s eyes met with the blinds he had always owned, which allowed the harsh beams of light to spill through in rows of gold. The bed he lay on was no longer comfortable, and the sheet he had pulled over himself sometime in the night was still nothing more than a sheet. Thin, old, tattered.

With a soft groan, he lowered his head to sit between his knees, lacing his fingers behind his neck. _Okay, Koichi,_ he thought, fighting back bitter tears that threatened to cascade down his cheeks. _back to reality._

He slowly fell to his back once more, closing his eyes for a moment just to try and get the image of his room back at the cottage. To try and feel the goose-feather patchwork blanket, try to hear the stained glass wind chimes and the rustling of the ocean of grass in the Provencal breeze.

He dragged his hands down his face. Right. He was home, now; he couldn’t focus on such stupid things. There was work to be done, and he was determined to do it. He would just have to forget about the cottage, at least for now, and try to get back into the swing of his old life. 

Who knows-- maybe now, after developing a habit for cleaning back in Provence, he would finally have that neat and tidy little apartment he’d always wanted? Maybe, after knowing what a _real_ bed felt like, he would try and get a better mattress, a better blanket; most likely a patchwork one, of course. He would cook more, too, seeing as he discovered how much he enjoyed it back at the cottage. Perhaps he would be able to cope with the fact that he would never see that gorgeous little house ever again by bringing parts of it into his own world. That would be good, right? Healthy. A nice coping mechanism to move on. 

He did not, in fact, do any of that. 

He lay on his back, staring at a small crack he had never noticed before on one of his lightbulbs. Listened to the sounds of cars whooshing past outside. Forgot about eating breakfast or drinking coffee, forgot about taking a shower, about changing into comfortable clothes. He didn’t… _feel_ much of anything right now. It was like he had been drugged, like he was still taking those painkillers that had been offered to him after he got shot. His whole world seemed underwater-- slow, hard to breathe in, hard to see in. 

Every time he closed his eyes to sleep the day away, the ghost of Lupin’s lips on his skin would force him back to consciousness, so he would just keep his eyes open. Sleep without really sleeping. 

He stayed like that ‘til the afternoon, when he realized that he was sweating beneath his clothes and his hair was beginning to get greasy again after several days of not washing it, and he was beginning to overheat and overthink. So, using practically all of his energy, he swung his legs out of bed, kicking off his shoes as he did so, and stood up on old, dusty, dirty wooden floors. They creaked beneath his shifting weight, faded and scuffed to hell from years of Zenigata coming home and simply crashing in whatever he was wearing, shoes and all, falling right to sleep the minute his head came into contact with any part of the mattress or pillow. 

As he made his long, shuffling journey to his tiny bathroom, he undressed. First, he shed his coat, letting it slip down his shoulders and fall in a heap at his feet. His brown suit jacket was next, tattered at the cuffs, old, worn, but still good. Vest. Button-up shirt, button by button, until it too was off, falling a small distance from the vest. He continued along making his little trail of clothes until he reached the bathroom door, where he finally shed his boxers and socks and stumbled inside of the small, white room.

There were a few cobwebs in the bathtub, so he took a moment to get a broom and gather them up to throw them away. Dust had settled. Is this really what a mere two months of inactivity looked like?

He tried not to dwell on how ugly his home looked in the light of a new (well. Half-new) day, and instead let the water run as he stepped beneath it. The pressure was weak, and his soap definitely didn’t smell as good as whatever Lupin had been using, but it was warm and it was familiar. It woke him up, too. Good. That was good. 

He kept his shower relatively short, not wanting to accidentally start thinking or reminiscing about things he knew would just hurt him too much. When he toweled himself off and changed into pyjamas, he went back and collected his trail of clothing, placing them in his dirty laundry hamper. 

And then, just like that, with those two simple tasks, he was wiped out completely. The minute he sat down on the sweet pea-green couch in his living room, his entire body sagged into the cushions, and his head slumped to his shoulder. 

He had no idea why he owned the couch. He had found it years ago on the side of the road in perfect, brand-new condition, still wrapped in plastic and everything. Either somebody dropped it or left it there, but whatever the case way, it was a score in his book. This had taken place a week after his wife left him, and he was practically broke, since out of the two of them, she made the most money. He was willing to take what he got, and so, with the help of a friend who owned a truck, the tacky little number was promptly taken to his itty-bitty one-bedroom apartment. It was the newest thing there. 

Over time, he had grown to love the hideous piece of furniture, and he didn’t mind the color so much anymore. Besides, as it aged, it grew less stiff, became a little bit softer. 

He closed his eyes, feeling himself go completely limp. Why was he so _drained?_ Maybe it was just jet lag, even though practically his entire life he had done nothing but hop place to place, with no sure sign of a sleeping schedule ever. Yeah, he thought, trying not to let his mind wander to dark eyes and thin fingers and a Cheshire smile. Just jet lag.

Zenigata’s eyes opened slowly, fluttering until he was able to fully see. 

Or, well. Until he could feel that they were open. He couldn’t see a damn thing right now. It was pitch black in his apartment. How long had he slept? 

He stood up, his body stiff from sleeping in an upright position, joints cracking and muscles tensing up as he stretched deeply. He popped his knuckles, neck, ankles. Rolled his wrists until they, too, popped. 

The first step he took, he almost fell flat on his face, feeling limp and dizzy and, quite honestly, a bit queasy. Was he getting sick?

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he fumbled around in the dark without too much difficulty, able to find the nearest lightswitch seeing as he had memorized the layout of his tiny apartment years ago. 

The light flicked on, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness. He blinked a few times, looking around his living room with a soft, solemn gaze. According to the clock on his stove, it was just about three in the morning. 

_Fuck,_ he thought, biting his lower lip as he stared at the numbers with a furrowed brow. He really did waste the day away, didn’t he? And now what? Was he supposed to go to bed again after sleeping from about five in the afternoon to now? After sleeping for a solid _ten fuking hours?_

Might as well start the day early. 

He took slow, shuffling steps around his apartment to turn on the lights, each footfall causing a symphony of creaks from the floorboards. Dust collected on the bottom of his socks, and he was able to spot a few more cobwebs tucked away in the corners of each room. 

In the short time that he had been gone, the only place he could ever think to call home had sat, unused, quiet, the entire time. Nobody cleaned or cooked or slept or laughed or drank in it. Nobody invited people over, nobody was led clumsily to the bedroom, giggling in a hushed, secretive tone, eyed hazy and mouths swollen and cheeks hot and hands fumbling. Nobody had held dinners with friends, nobody watched movies. Nobody was there. 

When Zenigata moved to the kitchen in his newly lit space, he realized with an ache in his heart that he didn’t do any of those things anyway. His entire life had revolved around chasing Lupin, catching Lupin, finding out Lupin’s next heist, collecting information on Lupin, seeing Lupin. Lupin, Lupin, Lupin. For years, he had only used this apartment as solid ground to collect his thoughts, and then he would be off again. This little place _always_ collected dust. It held nothing of meaning or importance, only containing bare necessities. There was no character, no pictures hanging up on the wall, no decorations or small trinkets bought impulsively from a thrift store. The only thing that would make anybody think that someone even lived there at all was that ugly, sweet pea-green couch sitting in the living room in front of a generic coffee table. 

All in all, Zenigata’s apartment was a ghost house. 

He stood, staring out the kitchen window into the night, not breathing, not blinking, not moving. He just stood in the middle of a place he constantly forgot he lived in.

Zenigata was haunting his own home.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to snap out of whatever he had just thrown himself into. He leaned against the countertop, suddenly feeling a bit weak in the knees, a bit like he had a headrush. 

He thought of his colleagues, even his _boss,_ and how all of their homes were in real, actual houses, full of furniture bought over time, found in antique stores and thrift malls and cute little yardsales. Some had pets, others had children and wives and husbands. They didn’t live in tiny apartments with sweet pea-fucking-green couches and nothing else to give the living space any sort of personality or color.

Maybe that’s why he missed the cottage so much. Maybe that’s why he missed living out in the country-- it felt homey, permanent, real. Like he could fall back on it. Even though, in his heart, he knew he couldn’t; Lupin’s world was not his to fall back on. Lupin’s world and his own had to stay far away from one another. They didn’t… they just didn’t _belong._ So why had it felt so _good?_ Why were his lips so soft, and why was his voice so charmingly sweet? If they weren’t meant to be, then _why_ was that monkey-faced bastard so damn _important_ to him? 

Using his thumb and forefinger, Zenigata pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache slowly pulsing near the base of his skull. This was just too much to think about. It was awful, and it was strange, and _God_ it was just _too much._ Part of him wanted to immediately go back to work just to get his mind off of all this bullshit, but then another part of him reminded him in a small, hurt voice that his whole career was still completely dependant on the man he had kissed goodbye at a Provencal airport only yesterday. Or, technically, the day before yesterday, seeing as it was now well past three in the morning.

He chewed on this thought for a moment; when he went back to work, would he be able to arrest Lupin? After dancing with him to Édith Piaf in the kitchen? After stripping down in front of him and skinny dipping by the light of the stars? After so many nights spent staying up late and simply talking to one another, drinking cocoa and listening to the radio? After the thief had kissed him, and he had kissed _right back?_

Surely not. 

He sighed shakily, anxiety and guilt and pure, raw _sadness_ pooling in the pit of his gut. 

It was one thing when he knew his feelings were unrequited. When he had been in a dirty hotel in Spain years ago, trying to chase away the heat by sitting in nothing but his boxers inside of the bathtub with no water, letting the cool porcelain touch his skin, and suddenly realized that Lupin made him more flustered than usual, made his heart feel like it was a fluttering little bird, when he realized that maybe, just maybe, he might have feelings for the thief. He knew that Lupin could _never_ feel the same way about him. 

But he had _admitted_ it. He had kissed Zenigata-- not the other way around! And he kissed him over and over and over, and they danced and they laughed and the fell asleep in each other’s arms. And it was _right,_ it felt so marvelously right. 

But, apparently, it didn’t matter how right it _felt._ Because it wasn’t supposed to happen. Lupin was not supposed to kiss Zenigata, Zenigata was not supposed to fall in love with Lupin. He wasn’t supposed to be shot, wasn’t supposed to be nursed back to health, wasn’t supposed to be wanted by the thief. 

He was supposed to continue on with their little game of cat and mouse. Find out Lupin’s whereabouts, chase him down, try to catch him, fail, rinse and repeat. That was how it worked, and that was how it had to be. 

Zenigata stared out at the window, the blue light of daybreak barely gracing the world as the sun slowly began to creep above the horizon. It was almost morning. 

He sighed softly, feeling that awful, horrible ache begin to wrap around his ribs and _squeeze._ Once the sun was up, he would have to face the day. He’d have to face himself and the people around him and his stupid, empty apartment, and he would have nowhere else to hide. 

Might as well _try_ and make the best of it. 

The roof to the apartment complex was always unlocked from the inside, and residents were welcome to spend time there. The owners had strung lights up, letting them glow all throughout the night, and it was quite the perfect place to watch a sunrise. And what _better_ to do than that? 

Zenigata shuffled back to his room, slipping on his enormous trench coat. It slid onto his body, rumpled from being tossed carelessly aside, a little frayed around the edges here and there. He patted the pockets, checking to make sure he had his box of cigarettes and trusty lighter on him. 

For a moment, he thought of Lupin. How his mouth had tasted like Gitanes the night they first kissed. A flavor that was so very generic of a man like that, and it suited him _perfectly_ well.

Satisfied after feeling the lump of the box, he slipped out of his apartment, closing the door softly shut, dropping his key inside his pyjama pocket. 

The halls were silent, and he walked on tiptoe hoping to God that the subtle creak of the old floorboards wouldn’t wake up any other residents. When he reached the stairwell, he cringed at the way it squeaked loudly on its hinges, worrying his lower lip as his anxiety of bothering somebody grew considerably high. However, much to his relief, nobody cracked their doors open, nobody came to scold him; this was fine. 

He crept up the stairs, holding tight to the banister, feeling queasier and queasier with each step. He didn’t want to _be_ here. But he knew that he couldn’t go any other place; it was just him and his stupid couch and his stupid old trenchcoat that smelled like Lupin’s detergent brand. Catching a whiff of it made him sick to his stomach. 

He buttoned his coat, tied the strings tight, and pulled it so close to his face that the aroma of lavender and clean sheets swallowed him whole. 

It was empty on the rooftop, save for him, of course. The lights were still on, and it was still mostly dark in the world. For a moment, he did nothing but stand, still and quiet as the morning breeze caught the end of his coat and the top of his hair and sent ice-cold chills running up and down his spine. It was freezing out here, and for a moment, he regretted his decision to be outside at all. 

But, as much as he didn’t want to be cold, he didn’t want to be in his empty apartment, even more. Where dust bunnies hid around every bend, where nothing was there to remind him that _this_ was home, where he was mocked by that sweet pea-green couch that he hated and loved and wanted to throw out the window. 

He slowly got down to the cold, cold concrete of the building, and rolled onto his back, arms and legs stretched out. The trenchcoat didn’t do much to protect him from the chill of the wind and the way the frigid, hard surface felt beneath his body, but he didn’t move. 

Despite it still being a little dark out, he could make out no stars. In Provence, he saw them ‘til the sun rose and chased them all away.

He let out a shaky breath, which came out in a puff of white from his trembling, parted lips. Slowly, he slid his hand down, tracing across his side, running his fingers along the fabric of his coat until he reached his pocket. He curled his fist around the pack of cigarettes, taking it out gradually. He shook the box with one, precise flick of the wrist, a practice he was familiar with, and the tip of a cigarette poked out from the carton. He drew it to his lips, not bothering to look at the box, not bothering to feel the way it tasted against his mouth as he put the carton away and draw out his lighter. 

Soon, his hand flopped back out to his side, and he smoked using nothing but his mouth, letting the flavor envelop him completely. 

It was stronger than what he normally smoked, and it was a taste he recognized but certainly not from cigarettes. He pulled the carton back out from his pocket.

He gazed at it, for only a moment, and then let his head fall to the side, cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. He dropped his hand, still holding the carton, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. They _hurt._ They hurt so much, and he just couldn’t help it as he let out a choked sob, his voice breaking ever so slightly. 

The sky was beginning to brighten, blue light pouring over his shivering body, the Gitane brand cigarette still burning away between his whimpering lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally officially have animal crossing brain rot 🥰🥰 my starting villagers are ugly as fucking hell but theyre so kind so it's okay


	16. the suitcase in the back of the closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zenigata decides to quit the Lupin case, realizing that maybe, it's for the best. It'll be easier to get over the fact that he can't be with the thief if he can't see him, right?  
> ... _Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> home stretch home stretch home stretch!!!!! fuck!!!! shit!!!! 
> 
> also my apologies for another late chapter on god, i'll try to start writing earlier tomorrow

“You want to... you want to _what?”_ The commissioner’s jaw was slack, and he stared at Zenigata like he just sprouted a second head. The air conditioner in the tiny room was on full blast, and it was constantly too cold. Maybe it just gave all of the officers an excuse to wear their uniforms. Zenigata nodded, not looking his boss in the eye, hands balled into fists at his side.

“Yes, I want to be taken from the Lupin case. If it isn’t too much of a problem, that is,” his voice was quiet, and his expression was… _lacking,_ if that was even the right way to put it. Empty, blank, barren-- those worked, too. 

His little vacation had been uneventful, to say the least. He moped around the first few days, barely having the energy to get out of bed, until finally, on the fourth day, he was up again, movements robotic as he cleaned some of his apartment and cooked something small, the first thing he had eaten since Provence four entire damn days ago. Going back to work was a relief for him, really; it gave him the idea of a schedule. 

“I mean, Inspector, I know that-- well, you see, I know that sometimes I can be pretty hard on you when you don’t catch him, but to tell you the truth, _nobody_ has ever gotten as close as you,” the commissioner spoke slowly, idly twiddling his thumbs, worrying at his lower lip. He had threatened to fire Zenigata _several_ times, told him someone as clumsy as him wasn’t right for a case like this, said that he was too obsessed with catching Lupin. And now he wanted him to stay? 

“I’m sure you can find someone to replace me, sir,” Zenigata’s voice was level and calm. He didn’t feel level or calm at all. He didn’t know what he felt. Didn’t know a damned thing. 

The commissioner bit his lip, popped his fingers, nervously tilted his head away from Zenigata. Furrowed his brow, sighed softly, popped his fingers again, began to bounce his leg frantically beneath this desk, bit his lip once more. Until finally, he spoke, looking up at the man before his desk with concern on his face. 

“Are you sure this is _really_ what you want to do?”

“Yes,” 

“And you’re prepared to take on something more… er, _mundane_ until we can find you a proper case to work on?” 

“Yes,”

“It might take a while, you know. Are you _absolutely sure?”_ He leaned his body across his desk, forcing the inspector to catch his gaze. His eyes were intense, trying to read Zenigata, trying to find out just _what_ had gone so wrong. Looking for any possible explanation as to why the hell he was just so willing to give up, especially on a case that he had poured his entire being into, had devoted more time than anybody to, had been _so close_ on so many different occasions. 

“Yes.” Zenigata said simply, looking him right in the eye, not backing down, not hesitating, voice never wavering. The conversation was over. That was it. His boss fully understood that he wanted _off_ the Lupin case as soon as possible, and there really wasn’t much he could do about it. So, instead of saying anything more, instead of trying to convince the inspector to just stay a little longer, he nodded his head in silence, taking the paper that Zenigata had given him, signing it with a ballpoint pen. It was the inspector’s formal request to drop Lupin’s case. It was very official and very real; this wasn’t a strange, practical joke. 

“Go ahead and take the rest of the day off. When you come in tomorrow, just swing by my office. I’ve got some paperwork you can do ‘til I can find you another case to start cracking,” the commissioner sighed, defeated as he filed the paper away in a manilla folder. Zenigata shook his head. 

“I can do it now, I don’t mind. Just send them to my desk and I’ll begin immediately,” 

As the inspector was turning to leave, the commissioner very suddenly exclaimed

“Inspector!” and Zenigata stopped in his tracks, back turned to his boss. “You aren’t yourself. Are you alright?” 

But Zenigata simply shut the door softly, walking down the hallway with a calm expression, his shoes clicking on the neat white tile floor that resided below him. In silence, he went back to his desk, and not a second after he pulled his chair out to sit, a temp scuttled by and dropped off a stack of thick, white papers. 

“These are um-- well, it’s just. It’s paperwork, sir,” she piped up nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “I thought you were on the Lupin case,” 

“I was,” Zenigata answered immediately, and her mocha cheeks flushed a deep, red color. 

“Ah! No, I’m sorry I was just--” she fumbled over her words. She was a temp. A newbie, just trying to get a little extra cash to pay the bills. She scared quite easily and _hated_ talking to people who were more than one or two ranks above her, even some of the goofiest ones like Zenigata made her anxious. She was too young and inexperienced to do a lot of the messier, more hands-on things, though the inspector heard that her training had been going quite well.

He would usually offer her a toothy, silly grin, tell her something along the lines of “Hey, now, don’t be a stranger!” and ask her if she wanted anything from the break room as he passed. At first, she had declined politely, not wanting to bother a coworker, but over time, as she saw that he was practically harmless, Zenigata found himself bringing her small vending machine brownies wrapped in thick plastic, sticky, sweet honeybuns, or cans of anything that held caffeine, from iced espresso to soda. They shared little jokes, and the inspector found out that she and her girlfriend were getting pretty serious, as it had been a few years and they were moving in together soon.

Now, however, he couldn’t really do much more than offer a soft, tired quirk of the lips. His energy was gone. 

“You’re fine, you’re fine. Do you know when this is due?” 

“Uh-- yeah. It’s quite a bit, so the commissioner wants it in a day or two if you can handle that,” 

“Of course. Anything else?” 

She frowned softly, pushing back a strand of coiled, cinnamon-brown hair. “Are you okay?” She asked after a moment or two. “You don’t seem like your usual self today. I heard that you just got back from a really long stay in Russia because you lost your passport-- that must’ve been a bummer,” 

“Yeah, yeah, it was a lot. Whole wallet got stolen, including my badge, so I wasn’t really able to work,” he explained, the fabricated story spilling from his mouth and leaving a bad aftertaste. She nodded in sympathy. 

“Is that all that happened to you?” 

He looked up, a little surprised to hear the question. She wasn’t normally so bold. For a moment, he wondered if someone was imitating her; it wasn’t uncommon for Lupin (or any other criminal, really. But mostly Lupin) to impersonate a police officer to get some information. However, one look at her body language suggested that no, she was still her timid, little self. His expression of shock melted into a tired smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s all,” 

“...Alright,” she said quietly, not fully trusting him. “if you need anything, let me know,” 

On a normal day, Zenigata would bark out a big, rambunctious laugh, and go “That’s my line!” or something to a similar effect. 

Today, however, was not a normal day, and the inspector merely looked at her and nodded, beginning to start his paperwork as she shuffled away politely. 

The stuff he had been given was easy, and it was honestly a little bit refreshing to have something that he could work through as quickly as he was. He managed to tear through a good portion of it during work hours, scribbling down reports and numbers and case histories ‘til the heavy hand of one of his colleagues landed on his shoulder and he was told that it was time to go home. 

He said goodnight to his coworker but didn’t leave until a full hour later when the sun was beginning to sink. 

Finally, he decided to leave, to pack up his work for the day and finish it back at his apartment. 

Back home, he shucked off his coat, hung it on the rack, and left his shoes by the entryway as he took his briefcase to the sweet pea-green couch and snapped it open before he even sat down, sinking into the cushions while his hands fumbled through filled-out papers until he could find the ones that still needed to be worked on. He laid them out over the coffee table, letting the rest of the papers remain in his briefcase, which he placed below the table with a slow, unfocused movement. After setting up, he stood once again, walking as though on autopilot into his kitchen. 

He swung the fridge open, and his glazed eyes swept it over once, twice, three times, before he closed it. His brain was too foggy to focus, and he shook his head slightly, as though trying to rattle _something._ To try and wake up a little. 

He didn’t really expect to quit the Lupin case as he did. Really and honestly, those weren’t his intentions. He was originally going to return to the force, keep grinding at the case, revert to his life of constantly chasing after a man who was impossible to catch.

But maybe that was just _it._ Zenigata _had_ caught Lupin. Fair and square, beneath Provence’s warm, honey-sweet sunshine, he managed to pin the thief (not literally, though one would expect him to with his height advantage) and capture him for _once_ in his entire career. 

Having a hold-- in both the literal and metaphorical sense-- on Arsene Lupin the Third was the most wonderful, beautiful thing the inspector had ever experienced in his lifetime. He had been very close before, instances that both men claimed to forget, nights where they had stared just a little too long or gotten a little too close or touched a little too tenderly, days where those chases seemed like they would end in lips, in laughter, in hands. Yes, he had been _so, so_ close before, but when he finally did manage to catch the thief? 

Oh, it was like a dream. It was surreal and wonderful and far too good to be true, but it _was._

Now that Zenigata knew how it felt to really, truly have Lupin in his clutches, he realized that he never wanted to fall back into that old routine. Into that cat and mouse lifestyle. And even if he did, it was too late. He was off of the case. And he was sitting doing paperwork, the hours slipping by unnoticed, barely registering the cramps that he was getting in his fingers and wrist. 

He worked on those papers until the sun crept up the horizon, and dropped them off at the commissioner’s desk the minute he went into work, leaving too quickly to be asked about his well being or how the hell he had managed to finish so damn _quickly._ When he arrived back at his desk, there was a fresh stack of papers waiting for him to come and finish them, a little muffin from the vending machine sitting atop it. 

\---

For three months, he worked tirelessly on his paperwork, getting more done than anybody in the whole damn station, surviving off of coffee, cigarettes, and minimuffins brought to him by that dear, sweet temp (Maria was her name, he had discovered). He would come back to his apartment every night and work until he woke up the next morning, papers sticking to his cheek, pen still in his hand, back feeling awfully sore from falling asleep in such a weird, awkward position. He basically _lived_ on that hideous sweet pea-green couch, which, to him, was starting to look a little cute, a little whimsical, a little eccentric. 

Lupin continued on with his heists, popping up on the television every other week, sometimes every other day, all peppy and loud and enthusiastic. He was still flashy, still bold. 

Zenigata stopped watching the news, instead flipping to a nature documentary or even a corny romance movie to have running in the background as he worked tirelessly on mountains of paperwork. Coworkers began to joke that he was just too passionate about his line of work, and that be it Lupin or a form he had to fill out, he poured his whole being into it eagerly. They began to admire his dedication, his determination to finish every last paper, never fully realizing that all it was to Zenigata was a distraction to keep him from trying to show up to one of Lupin’s heists and kissing him hard on the mouth the minute their eyes met. 

And, speaking of Lupin, the thief most definitely didn’t fail to notice his favorite police inspector’s absence. Zenigata had been told by the commissioner quite a few times that his name had been mentioned by Lupin, that he had sent in little notes asking just where the _hell_ good ole Pops was and whether or not they were treating him well. 

Zenigata knew it wasn’t good and he shouldn’t do it, but he would save those little notes and keep them inside the bottom drawer of his new dresser, which he had purchased at an antique store. He had tried to find the piece of furniture with the most character, longing to fill his apartment with proof that there was a real, physical human being living there. He did not want to be a ghost anymore. 

This secret drawer of his was quickly becoming his most treasured possession, and even though it made him half-sick to read the notes, to have to relive the memories of kissing and hugging and laughing, it was still nice to know that Lupin was doing okay. That he was still his usual bold self. That he had not thrown himself into a strange, zombie-like state that made him lose weight and get dizzy every time he tried to do practically anything and completely render his appetite nonexistent.

For the most part, after his sixth month had passed Zenigata was doing pretty okay. He was tired more often, sure, and a little sadder, but he found that he was starting to be liked around the workplace, something he never truly experienced before. He was invited out, invited over. He had drinks with people he was slowly starting to call his friends, developing a little group of people who were hard-working and exhausted but as happy as they could be. He bought more casual clothes, wore them out to bars. Drank shots, danced, sung karaoke, walked arm in arm with that sweet little temp as the two of them went out for a movie or a bite to eat. 

He never was assigned an official case to work on. The commissioner saw how good he was with his paperwork, and grew a little bit greedy, wanting to keep him grinding on that job for as long as possible. Zenigata didn’t mind, though. Yes, he missed chasing Lupin, yes, paperwork was _boring_ as fuck, yes he now began to hate his job just like his new group of work friends did. 

But now, he had a new mattress. It was soft and fat and covered by a patchwork blanket, one that he told himself he was going to buy when he came back from Provence. He had a big, tufted-wool rug, and it stretched in a big rectangle in his living room. It was a creamy white, with pale brown accents in the shape of buttercups that bordered it. On top of it, the sweet pea-green couch looked absolutely _fantastic._ He replaced his coffee table from a local furniture store with one he had found while out thrifting. It was a little scuffed and the pastel blue paint was chipping quite a bit, but he found that, after inviting Maria and the rest of their little group of friends to help him retouch and paint it, it was the perfect addition to his apartment. 

Art hung up on his walls, framed pictures of his friends sat atop desks found at flea markets and antique stores, books began to fill up in a bookshelf given to him by a coworker. He cooked more, he finally began to eat regular portions again, didn’t smoke as much as he used to. 

Fluttering sweetly on his windows, there were thin, white lace curtains. And hanging above the kitchen sink, in front of the window that he now kept open most of the time, there was a wind chime, made from small shards of glass from bottles he and his friends had dyed and smashed out in a junkyard. 

Spring melted into summer, while slowly became fall, which eventually brought on the chill of winter. And now, for the first time in years, Zenigata lived in a home. Yes, it was still his dingy little apartment, but it was a _home._ And he was doing fine. For the first time in almost a year, he was _okay._

And then, all at once, he wasn’t. 

He didn’t _mean_ to happen upon it. Didn’t mean to find the old, used suitcase in the back of his closet as he was doing one of his routine Saturday cleans (his friend Ichika had suggested it). It just sort of happened. 

When he pulled it out, it held a thin layer of dust, a few old, long-forgotten cobwebs sticking to the side of it. Did he really not unpack when he had gotten in from Provence all those months ago? Had it really been _that_ long? 

He sat in front of it and stared for a moment, running a trembling finger over the buckles and buttons that held it closed. He took a deep, shaky breath, remembering how much it had hurt to pack it. Remembering how Lupin had kept kissing any part of him he could reach as the two of them worked, constantly reminding him that he loved him. 

Zenigata had told himself time and time again that he didn’t remember exactly how those hands felt on him, how those lips tasted, how that smile completely _floored_ him every time. 

That was a lie. Of course, he remembered. Not a single day went by where he _didn’t._ He thought of Lupin every single day. Saw his silhouette each time he closed his eyes to sleep. 

He didn’t date anybody when he left-- he didn’t even _want_ to. He was just so uncomfortable with the thought of completely letting go. 

He said that he didn’t love Lupin anymore, but he did. So much that it hurt, so much that it would still keep him laying awake during the loneliest of nights, staring at his ceiling, wondering why he couldn’t just be allowed to have the thief. 

To be completely honest, he was too afraid to open the suitcase. So he pushed it back into the closet, clicked the door shut, then went into his living room and took a nap (on his now beloved couch). It was a Friday, so when he woke up and it was dark out, he didn’t mind one little bit, instead deciding to cook a late dinner and stay up all night watching TV. 

The suitcase was completely tucked away in the back of his mind, now, and he did his best not to think about it. He continued on with his life, kept working, kept drinking and laughing and collecting little pieces of himself to add to his apartment. 

(Each and every one of those little bits and bobs reminded him of the cottage. He had vases of flowers, a few paintings of jersey cows in a beautiful, lush field.)

He was still never put onto a real case, and he didn’t mind as much as he originally thought. He discovered that, if he wasn’t doing any real action

(if he wasn’t catching Lupin)

he didn’t enjoy his job as much as he originally thought. He kept it, though, because it was safe and comfortable. He hadn’t worn his trenchcoat in quite a while. He didn’t miss it. 

(He was too afraid to wear it. It still held barely-noticeable traces of Lupin’s detergent. If he wore it too much, it would start to smell like, him instead of the thief.)

The new guy on the Lupin case was absolutely _terrible,_ and the thief made sure that everyone knew he thought so. He would send in notes, saying that the old inspector was so much more qualified, that the old inspector’s talent was wasted working with paper. That he wanted Koichi Zenigata back, please and thanks, make sure this note reaches him! 

(Zenigata kept the notes in his secret drawer, looking at them nearly every day. It had almost been a full year. Lupin was still at it, still sending him reminders.)

Near the end of winter, Maria called Zenigata sometime at three in the morning and told him that she and her girlfriend had gotten engaged and that it would be so wonderful if he could make it to the wedding. Of course, he said yes, though it was the next morning when he woke up, for the minute she finished speaking he said 

“Maria, go fuck yourself, it’s three AM,” 

and hung up. It wasn’t until he woke up and fully processed what he had been told that he called her, excited and loud and very happily accepting her invitation. 

The wedding was gorgeous and fun and held outside, and the whole time, a beautiful, tall woman kept flirting with the inspector, sliding next to him when he sat down, dancing with him as slow music played, playfully offering him bites of thick, rich cake. 

When Zenigata came home that night, stumbling a little bit due to the fact that he was just a _little_ bit tipsy and had to have a friend drive him, he was alone. The girl, as pretty and charming as she was, just wasn’t his type. Absently as he kicked his shoes off and began to unbutton his suit jacket, he wondered if any girl was his type. The possibility of that was a little strange but… not unlikely. 

He sighed softly, stretching as he made his way to his bedroom, slowly shucking off each layer of clothing, tossing it over a chair that sat in the corner of the room and deciding he would deal with it later. For right now, it was late, and he was tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up on his ugly, beloved couch, and watch animal documentaries until he fell asleep. 

It had been a _long_ day, but not a bad one. He was incredibly happy for Maria and her girlfriend--no-- _wife._ Weddings always made him misty-eyed, and he cried practically the entire time. It felt good to finally be apart of a group, and he loved all of the friends he had made after quitting Lupin’s case _dearly._ They were sweet and funny and had God-awful senses of humor, but that just added to their charm. 

Zenigata smiled, loosening his tie as he opened his closet. His eyelids felt heavy, and his bones even heavier as he strung his tie up to a hanger, placing it back in its rightful area. 

A thought suddenly popped into his head, and for a moment, his blood ran ice cold. He had forgotten all about it. He looked down, not wanting to see what he knew was there, nervousness suddenly settling in the pit of his gut, the feeling of being sick gripping him without warning. His palms grew sweaty as slowly, cautiously, he reached down, taking the brown suitcase in his grasp. 

When he lifted it, it was comfortably heavy. The weight was familiar, and his chest began to ache for the first time in nearly a full year, as he yearned to be back in the cottage with the person that he loved. With the person that loved _him._

Without thinking, he went to go sit on the bed, placing the suitcase in front of him. Innocently, it sat on the patchwork blanket, never knowing its full power that it held over Zenigata, who was short on breath. 

He was _scared._ Terrified, even. He knew that the very second he opened it, memories would come flooding back, and he would be forced to relive every kiss, every touch, every smile. He hated it. He hated remembering. It just hurt too much, and for so long, he had managed to just forget. 

His hand lingered on the clasps for a moment too long, opening each latch slowly, stalling, as though a ferocious beast was waiting inside the confines of the small space. 

When he opened it, the first thing that greeted his eyes was the blouse he had worn when the two went skinny dipping. It was there, still folded sloppily next to a pair of equally messy pants.

With trembling hands, he reached for it, feeling the way the fabric slid between his hands. He clutched it, not entirely sure of what he was doing as he brought the shirt closer, closer, closer to his face until his nose was buried in it. 

_Lupin._

It smelled like the cottage, and like grass, and like that detergent Zenigata loved so much. He felt his stomach churn, as though he were going to be sick, but he didn’t dare move a muscle. He kept it close to his face, closing his eyes, trying to lose himself in the material.

Finally, tears already beginning to pool in his eyes, he lowered it to the bed, placing the pants he found over it. 

He ran his hands across every article of clothing, every book Lupin had given him. Felt the familiar textures beneath the pads of his fingers, tears spilling easily and freely from his eyes. He almost felt guilty rummaging through the clothes, as though he were disturbing something holy or sacred, as though, by touching these clothes, he was ruining something that he would never be able to get back. 

Suddenly, as he was lifting up a little book of Provencal recipes Lupin had given him, something white slipped out from the pages. Zenigata blinked, placing the book down next to him, lifting what seemed to be an envelope in his hand. 

It was exactly that. Cream-colored and rigid from never being opened, it had the thief’s neat, looping cursive on the front of it, and in the back, it was held together with a gorgeous, wax seal, light pink and holding the pattern of a singular apple blossom with intricate leaves and splendidly detailed petals. 

His heart stopped, and his eyes widened, breath catching in his throat. His eyes, which had dried of their tears several minutes ago, began to feel blurry again. This couldn’t possibly…? Did he really leave this here for almost a full year, forgotten and stuck inside of an old cookbook?

Terrified, he opened the seal as carefully as he could, not wanting to damage it in any way possible. It finally peeled open, and he felt as though he had just unlatched Pandora’s box, as though he was about to release something hideous and painful. 

Carefully, breath still held, he slipped the letter out. 

It was a small, simple sheet of writing, and then a few other papers that the thief labeled as heists he planned to pull if Zenigata wanted to try and stop him _._ He didn’t even read anything the first time he flicked his gaze across the crinkled paper, instead simply taking in the way that his Lupin wrote, trying to feel the words through his skin first before he even tried to process what they said. 

Finally, he put the heist plans beside him on the bed and began to read the letter. 

_Hi, Pops._

_I’ve written this letter just about a million times, having to redo it because it sucked. I thought I had the perfect draft down, which I slipped into your suitcase while we were packing, but I decided against it. I’m hoping this is the final copy because you’re in bed next to me as I write this, and I’d very much like to get back to holding you, but I know that if I don’t write this now, I’m never gonna get another chance._

_I’m not sure when you’re gonna open this, but I sure hope it’s sooner than later. It’d be a little bit awkward if, say, ten years from now, you rush up to me telling me about all of these heists that I already absolutely succeeded in._

_I miss you already even though you’re sleeping right next to me as I write this silly thing. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop missing you. You have the stupidest laugh and the kindest smile and I absolutely adore how nice it feels when you put your hands_ anywhere _on my body. You’re so beautiful, and you make me so, so very happy. I’m also going to add the fact that you’re insanely adorable, because, just a millisecond ago, you slung your sleepy little arm around my waist and shuffled closer. Sorry in advance if you think it’s creepy that I’m writing this while I watch you sleep. It’s all out of love._

_I know that we’re supposed to be broken up, but I just thought I’d let you know I do still love you. I’ve loved you for a while, now, actually. And, now especially, looking at the way your eyelashes flutter, I love you even more. So try not to forget that, okay?_

_One of these days, I’ll kiss you again. I’ll do it, and that’s a promise. Maybe even a threat._

_Love (and I mean it),_

_Lupin iii_

Zenigata stared down at the paper in his hands. He didn’t even realize that he had begun to cry again until he noticed dark, wet spots forming at the margins of the letter. 

What the hell was he thinking? What the hell was he _doing?_ Lupin was one of the most important people he had ever met. And then, suddenly, for a moment, he _had him._ He was in love with the thief, and, in return, the thief was in love with him. So what the fuck was he doing right now? 

His mind wandered over to his job, which was now terribly mundane. He was a little glad that he had quit Lupin’s case because now, he had a home and he had friends and he was actually _happy._

Though something had been missing for a very long time now. Too long, even. And he knew exactly what that something was. 

When he quite Lupin’s case, he knew exactly what he should have actually done. He knew that he shouldn’t have stopped there, shouldn’t have taken that paperwork, but he was so broken and hurt that he _did._

His friends had already discussed quitting, Maria being the first to actually start working on her resignation papers. She said that sure, she liked being a temp, but now that she was married, she and her wife could do the jobs they’ve always wanted to have instead of sticking with something that they both hated but made them money. 

Zenigata clutched Lupin’s letter in his hand, reading and re-reading it until he seemed to have memorized every single line. And then, suddenly exhausted, he sunk to the floor, sliding off of his bed, leaning his head against the mattress. He was still in love. He always had been. He always will be. 

There was nothing left to do, now. It was a no-brainer. He wanted to be with Lupin, and that was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u couldnt tell already, im a big fan of zenigata's couch. i want it. sweet pea-green is the sexiest fucking color i have ever seen other than yellow.


	17. i love you yesterday and tomorrow as well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The decision has been made. Zenigata knows how he feels, knows who he loves, knows what he needs to do in order to be truly happy.
> 
> (the title to this chapter was also plucked from Field Medic's iloveuimcrazyimsorry with utmost care. thought i'd come full circle)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is it this is the end 🥺 sloppiest chapter i think ive ever seen. enjoy

This was it. 

It had officially been a year since Zenigata came home from Provence and only a month after he had discovered the suitcase and the letter.

He stood in the elevator, patiently waiting to arrive at the top floor so he could discuss his… current matters with his boss. Anxiously, his pulse raced, and he could feel it everywhere: his neck, his chest, the tips of his fingers, the top of his head. His hands were shaky, and he had thrown himself into a panic attack when he drove to work that morning. 

However, his anxiety wasn’t a  _ bad  _ thing, per se. Was he scared? Oh, yes, absolutely terrified. Was he worried? Completely drowning in concern, sure. 

But he knew exactly what he was doing. 

Last week, he had called Maria and her wife (Kiyi, a sweet, short, plump woman who wanted nothing more than to write novels. The kindest little thing Zenigata had ever seen). They had decided to use their honeymoon cash to officially move to beautiful, sunny Italy, a destination they had both dreamed about for years. 

Kiyi picked up the phone, and the inspector greeted her warmly, asking if he could speak to his friend. She happily passed the receiver over, and the minute Maria’s soft voice answered “Hello? Koichi?” he practically  _ vomited  _ everything that had happened to him. 

He spilled his guts all across the floor, messy and gruesome, about how he was shot, how he was nursed back to health by the very criminal he had made it his  _ life goal  _ to catch, and about how he realized his love for that same man. About the suitcase nearly a year later, and the letter that tore him at the seams. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, pooling at his jaw, getting caught in the dip of his Cupid’s bow as he shakily explained to the patient girl how he could no longer stand being apart from the man he loved, how he was so afraid of what he would do if he no longer had the ICPO, how he wasn’t sure if he would be able to do any line of work other than a police officer. And then he shut up, and Maria talked. 

She told him about how she had quit, about how she and her wife held that beautiful but small, cheap wedding, and about how, instead of a honeymoon, they moved to their dream home. Right now, everything was a little shabby; the two were not rich. They worked two jobs each, came home late at night, barely saw one another. 

“But it sure as hell beats bringing minimuffins to you,” she chortled from the other line, her tinny voice brimming with kindness. Zenigata gave a weak, wet chuckle.

“Koichi, look,” she said firmly. “you know how you feel, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” 

“And you know what you want?” 

“Yes, I think so,” 

“So then don’t be a pussy!” 

In the background, faint and quiet from the other line, he heard Kiyi burst out laughing. 

So here he was. Not being a pussy. The elevator chimed, and he stepped out, resignation papers folding slightly beneath his iron grip as he walked, shoes tapping softly against the tile, the familiar view of the hallway leading to his boss’ office feeling strange and surreal. 

He glanced out at one of the tall, wide windows, looking over the city in the morning. It was still a little sleepy, with not much hustle and bustle. That would pick up in an hour or so. 

Absently, as he continued, his pace becoming brisker by the second, he wondered where Lupin was, if he was okay, if he was thinking of Zenigata, too. 

At long last, after what felt like  _ eons,  _ he finally stood face-to-face with the commissioner’s nameplate that rested, firmly bolted, upon his door. With a shaky hand, the inspector reached for the handle, sucking in his breath and  _ holding it,  _ afraid to move, afraid that if he dared to release that breath, all of this would crumble and fall before his very eyes. 

He turned the knob, and the door creaked in protest as he pushed it open. 

“Ah, good morning, Inspector!” The commissioner greeted genially. “I got your call last night and was expecting you. Please, come in, sit down. What is it you need to discuss with me?” 

Zenigata nervously allowed the door to shut on its own behind him, and he stepped forward trying to keep his demeanor confident. He pulled out the grey chair his boss had gestured to, trying not to look too rigid as he sat. 

“Well--” he began, but was promptly cut off. 

“I think I know  _ exactly  _ what’s eating you right now, to tell the truth,” he grinned with a wink. 

“You-- you do?” Zenigata’s blatant surprise was taken with a hearty chuckle from the man across the desk. 

“Of course! You’ve come to be a complete saint,” 

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re getting at, sir,” 

The man frowned. “Inspector, of course, you do! You understand how poorly your replacement is doing, and have come to ask to be put back on the Lupin case!”

Zenigata blinked owlishly, not entirely sure what to do with this information. The commissioner  _ really  _ thought he was here to crawl back to that case? That he was going to beg the man to  _ please  _ just let him chase after the monkey-faced thief again? 

“I--” once more, he couldn’t get more than a single word in, for the commissioner was firing off again. 

“In preparation, I even gathered all of the papers you’d need to fill out after you called me last night!” The commissioner grinned proudly, opening a filing cabinet in his desk and bending down and out of sight to rummage around for a moment or two, before popping back up with several crisp, white, new forms which he slapped on the desk. He spun the papers to face Zenigata, before sliding them forward with a grin. “The answer, obviously, is yes, you may work on the Lupin case again. It took you long enough! For a minute, I was beginning to worry that you  _ liked  _ doing paperwo--” 

“I’m quitting.” 

The commissioner stopped dead in his tracks, still gesturing to the forms, mouth still ajar, triumphant grin stuck on his face. For a moment, he simply sat there, frozen in time. Shock truly had one hell of an effect on people. 

Slowly, he closed his mouth, lowering his hand. He blinked. Once, twice, three times. 

“You--you’re  _ what?”  _ He asked, brow furrowed. 

“I’m quitting,” Zenigata repeated, crystal clear, no sign of hesitation whatsoever lingering in his voice. 

“You’re uh,” the commissioner chuckled, growing nervous. “you’re quitting your nothing-but-paperwork lifestyle? And going back to the Lupin case?” 

Zenigata neatly placed his resignation form on his boss’ desk, hands no longer shaky as he reached inside of his trenchcoat to pull out his badge, which he set upon the papers before sliding the whole bundle towards the shocked commissioner. 

“I’m quitting. The force, I mean. I’m turning in my badge, throwing in the towel, going into retirement early, whatever you want,” his voice was level, as was his head. This was right. He felt right. 

The commissioner opened and closed his mouth like a guppy tossed onto land, clearly at a loss for words. 

“You. You can’t just  _ quit,  _ I mean…” He was beginning to visibly sweat as the seconds ticked by. “What about Lupin? You were the only one who managed to… arrest him, even if… even if he escaped a few hours later. You’ve been  _ so close  _ to getting him permanently,” 

_ You’re right. I was close to getting him, but then I fucked up and left,  _ Zenigata thought, expression never wavering, eyes never breaking contact with the commissioner’s gaze.  _ I’m not going to lose Lupin again.  _

“Your honor, Inspector! What about your honor?” The commissioner fumbled with his words in a desperate, final attempt to entice Zenigata to just  _ stay.  _

“I don’t mind so much anymore,” he smiled lightly, surprised at how easy it was to admit that he was no longer all that interested in arresting Lupin. “I’ve learned to accept my defeat. I know when I’ve been beaten,” 

“But-- but you  _ can’t, _ ” 

“With all due respect, sir, could you please sign at the bottom of that paper?” Zenigata dared to stretch out his arm, extending his index finger to tap on the paper. His ex-boss-- or, well, almost ex-boss-- stared at him with a bewildered expression. 

Suddenly, in a flurry of movement, he leaped across the desk and began to mercilessly attack Zenigata’s face, tugging his cheeks and nose, poking and prodding, as the poor man tried to wave him off. 

“Lupin! I know this is you,” the commissioner snarled when Zenigata finally managed to beat him back. 

“It isn’t! It’s not Lupin,” 

“How should I know? Why should I trust  _ you?”  _

“There was no mask, was there?” 

The commissioner’s cheeks tinted pink, and he settled back down into his seat. Zenigata stared right at him, completely unwavering. This was not something he was going to shy away from. He wasn’t going to change his mind. 

The man behind the desk sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Are you sure?” He asked softly after a beat, looking up at Zenigata. 

“Yes. I’m positive,” 

“Listen, I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you, Koichi, but I know that you’re not the type of person to give up--” 

“Just sign the papers, sir. Please,” Zenigata smiled. The commissioner was right-- he  _ wasn’t  _ the type of person to give up. Which was why he wasn’t going to. He was still trying to capture Lupin, he wouldn’t ever stop, only this time, it was just a bit different. He no longer wanted to see the man in cuffs or behind bars. 

Zenigata left the police station grinning, holding a small box of things he had collected from his desk. He had already rummaged through it with one of his coworkers, throwing away everything except for a framed picture of his wife and daughter, and then a few polaroids that Maria gave him. Most of them were pictures of Zenigata and the rest of his group of pals grinning at bars, cheeks pink, eyes joyful, smiles loud. There were a few of Kiyi, a few of the wedding. 

There was a spring in his step as he made his way to the car, placing the box of six polaroids and a framed photo in his passenger seat before going to the other side. He gave one last look at the employee’s parking space, at the pavement that had to be renovated so many times due to so much graffiti from rebellious teens over the years, at the depressingly grey building that sat tall and menacing in front of him. It was no longer his problem. He was free. 

As he backed out and began the drive back home, he knew he was making the right decision. 

Now, however, there was the  _ rest  _ of his plan to pursue happiness and love. He had already applied for a simple office job, and he easily got the interview due to his many, many years of experience in an office-like setting (chasing Lupin not included). He was no longer chin-deep in debt, and he wouldn’t have to worry about unemployment for too long if he managed to do well in his upcoming interview. 

At the moment, he seemed to have everything somebody looking for change could ever want. Except there was just this  _ one  _ key factor that was  _ kind of  _ important. Just a little bit. 

He quit, had a new job lined up (hopefully), and now, all that was left to do was find Lupin. 

Zenigata turned a corner, flicking his blinkers on with his index finger, worrying his lower lip. Right. That couldn’t possibly be so hard, could it? After all, that had been the thing he was best at doing for… oh, how many years? He furrowed his brow. Now that he was no longer allowed access to any files, any information whatsoever, he was at somewhat of a loss. Lupin was still slippery as ever, still tough to find, especially since Zenigata was no longer paying much attention to him.

A pang of guilt suddenly twisted his gut. He really hadn’t been focusing on the thief lately, had he? He had no way of knowing where he was, if he was safe, if everyone else in the Lupin gang was still okay. All he knew was that he had a few of his calling cards in that secret drawer, and the most recent one was from a few months ago. Lupin could pull at least a  _ trillion  _ heists in that span of time, and there was no telling who he had gotten in trouble with, where the hell he even  _ was,  _ if he was even alive anymore. 

Surely, Zenigata thought, swallowing hard as that last thought began to grip his chest in a way that he didn’t like. Surely, Lupin was definitely still alive. The man was practically invincible! He could withstand anything and everything thrown at him, no matter how dangerous it was. 

Lupin was fine, Zenigata finally decided, gripping the steering wheel just a little bit tighter, furrowing his brow as he sped up. He was fine, he was safe, he was okay. There were no really other scenarios that fit him. 

So, with the assumption that he was still out and about, causing problems wherever he went, there was a sure-fire way to figure out just where he had been and where he was going to go. Zenigata’s shoulders hunched slightly, and he chewed his lower lip a bit harder. 

There was a stack of newspapers he kept on his kitchen counter. Not for any reason, but he was just too lazy to quit the subscription, and he liked reading a few of the sections that were neither news nor politics. Not only that, but the news channel was still up and running, though it had been quite a while since he last turned it on. With those two things alone, he should  _ easily  _ be able to find Lupin, to tell him one last time that he loved him. 

One last time. 

One last time. 

_ One last time.  _

It sounded strange, but as Zenigata rolled into his apartment complex’s parking lot, the phrase made more and more sense with every passing second. He exited the car, still thinking of it, picked up his box of seven pictures, still thinking of it, entered the building--you guessed it--still thinking of it.

His good mood crashed very suddenly when the realization that the thief was probably done with him washed over him like an ocean’s wave. It had been a full year, and Zenigata had made no effort to contact him. They didn’t even  _ see  _ each other. It was very easy to fall out of love in that time frame-- no contact, plenty of other people, plenty of other fish in the sea. It was practically impossible for Lupin to still harbor any sort of feelings for Zenigata. 

But he would just have to accept that. 

He would just have to take the risk. If not to win the thief back, then to simply remind him that yes, Zenigata  _ did  _ still love him. That he loved that silly bastard so much he completely changed. Because his love made him realize that he  _ wanted  _ to change. 

Whether or not his feelings were still reciprocated, Zenigata just wanted Lupin to know. That was all. He wanted to see him again. Wanted to hear him. He didn’t need anything else.

He closed his eyes gently as he stepped into the elevator, holding his small, nearly empty box of possessions beneath his arm, eyebrows furrowing, letting the ache turn into a dull, throbbing pain. Was he being overzealous? 

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out, glad to finally be home, exhausted despite only being at the station for a few hours. His bones felt weary, and he damn near crashed into his door as he fumbled with his key, using his hip to bump it open. 

He entered, clicking his door shut as he slipped his shoes off and walked deeper into his apartment. Gingerly, he placed his box of seven pictures on the blue coffee table, before shuffling to his kitchen counter and sitting at one of the rickety, old, antique-found stools that sat along the bar. He pulled the stack of untouched newspapers over to him, the soft paper smooth beneath the pads of his fingertips. Lupin was a front-page guy, right? He almost always made the very top of the newspaper every time he announced a new heist. 

For a brief moment, the memory of Lupin’s letter flashed through Zenigata’s mind, and he quickly stumbled away from the kitchen and into his bedroom, opening the door with quick, shaky hands. The heist papers he had sent! At this point, he probably would have completed all of them, but at least it would be a  _ little  _ something to aid the ex-cop into finding him. 

He dove into his bed, eagerly crawling to the side and reaching out towards his bedside table, opening its drawer and pawing around inside of it before he found the letter. 

He kept it in perfect condition, never letting the wax seal get damaged, never allowing any rips or holes to form on the letter itself, or even the envelope. He was insanely careful every time he reread it (which he had. So many times. It was probably engraved into his skull by now. If he had read it that much, why didn’t he think to even  _ once  _ look at any of Lupin’s heist plans? Damn old fool), wanting to preserve it exactly how it was right at that moment. 

Gingerly, he pulled the several pages of paper out, unfolding each of them with the utmost care and tenderness, brushing his fingers along the letters, falling in love with the thief all over again. He was tempted to read that note once more, but he knew that more important matters were at hand, and he waved the urge off, instead opting to pick up Lupin’s plans for future heists. 

The minute Zenigata took a glimpse at the papers, overwhelming relief and happiness flooded in the pit of his gut, and spread out from there. It spread to his toes and fingertips and the top of his head--  _ the plans were labeled with dates and times.  _

He went down the list, reading every single plan three times over, making  _ sure  _ that he wasn’t missing any important details. 

_ Wow,  _ Zenigata thought, his eyes widening ever so slightly as he flipped the first page to its back, finding that to be completely filled out as well. How had he never noticed this before? There were enough heists to last at least ten years!

That, of course, was an exaggeration. Surely, there weren’t. Surely, a few of them contained more writing, or their lettering was bigger, or perhaps, they had just been spaced apart strangely. Zenigata flipped through the pages, breath catching in his throat, not even reading the dates or the plans anymore, simply gawking at the sheer  _ amount  _ of them. 

Suddenly, all at once, it hit him. 

He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. Time  _ stopped,  _ completely froze over, seemed to just end for a few moments. Slowly, hands trembling, eyes suddenly growing watery, he reached for Lupin’s note, skimming it until he found the particular part he was thinking of.

_ I’m not sure when you’re gonna open this, but I sure hope it’s sooner than later. It’d be a little bit awkward if, say, ten years from now, you rush up to me telling me about all of these heists that I already absolutely succeeded in.  _

_ It’d be a little bit awkward if, say, ten years from now, you rush up to me telling me about all of these heists that I already absolutely succeeded in.  _

_...say, ten years from now… _

_...ten years… _

Zenigata slowly lowered his body to the mattress, curling up, clutching every single one of those wonderful, gorgeous papers his Lupin had written for him. That damned monkey-faced  _ bastard.  _ The idiot. That absolute fucking  _ romantic asshole.  _

He cried softly, shoulders shaking, tears spilling onto his patchwork blanket and creating dark spots that spread slowly. He sniffled and whimpered and hiccuped, his heart aching, stomach churning, feeling almost dizzy. 

These tears weren’t bad, though. No, no-- they were happy. They were relieved. They were tired and in love and so damn grateful.

It was all planned out! That fucking genius-- Lupin  _ had  _ written enough plans to last him ten whole years! Though details about everything  _ involving  _ these heists were vague, there were still set times and locations and dates. Lupin  _ wanted  _ to be found. He wanted to be found _ ten years from now. _ He _ wanted Zenigata to look for him _ .

Through blurry vision, Zenigata (still curled up and weeping like a baby on his side) looked through the letter, skimming through the dates. Sure enough, the further down he looked, the closer the dates became. His heart rate spiked, and he sat up, his breath catching once more. There it was.  _ There it was.  _

Staring right at him was next Monday’s date. Currently, it was a Friday, and Zenigata didn’t have his interview until next Saturday. 

In his neat, beautiful handwriting, he had written 

_ Hey, handsome. I thought I’d go for a jewel or two... or 1,927. Catch me if you can in Venice at midnight on March 19th, 1984! _

and Zenigata laughed out loud, hiccuping as he did so, still sobbing, clutching the paper to his chest. Lupin wanted to be found. He had fucking planned all of this and he  _ wanted to be found.  _

Zenigata had to pull himself together if he was going to make it to Venice in time. He didn’t quite want to be there for the stealing of… whatever it was, but maybe he’d catch Lupin before or after the deed was done. He stood, shaking like a damned leaf, stumbling and tripping over himself as he pulled the brown suitcase from Provence out of its hiding place in the closet. He wouldn’t pack much, just enough to live for a few days in Italy, just enough to get him by. He wasn’t sure what would happen when he and Lupin saw each other--  _ if  _ they saw each other, but it probably wouldn’t be anything all that spectacular. 

Or, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself, not wanting to accidentally get his hopes up too high. 

Haphazardly, he stuffed a few changes of clothes, some pyjamas he had taken from the cottage, as well as his toothbrush, comb, simple, bare-bones necessities. He was good at packing light; he had to do it if he was going to chase down the master criminal Lupin the Third. This was something he was entirely used to.

Flurrying seconds turned to rushed minutes turned to slow, dragging hours. He had locked up his apartment ages ago, calling one of his friends who lived nearby to check up on it every so often (water his plants, eat the things in his refrigerator so they wouldn’t go wasted, the basics) just before he left. And now here he was, sitting alone in an empty airport in the middle of the night, waiting for his flight to arrive. 

He had bought the tickets on a whim, just like everything else he had done today. It was strange and spontaneous and very unlike him to chase after something so far away that was non-work related. 

_ Non-work related.  _ Huh. Strange how, after a few simple decisions, Lupin was no longer a business case that Zenigata had to solve and lock up. Now, he was just… Lupin. Beautiful, wonderful, idiotic Lupin. 

He had to admit, he was certainly not used to pulling big gestures of affection like this. The last really memorable thing he had done was proposing to his wife, and that was  _ how  _ long ago? Not to mention the fact that it wasn’t even very remarkable. 

Should he bring flowers? Should he ask Lupin to marry him or something else outrageous like that? Was just flying to meet him enough? Oh, he really didn’t know how to do this. 

The thing was, though--and this was the very odd part-- he didn’t care. For once, presentation and flare were not things that mattered to him. He had no plan of action, and he was still not entirely sure what the hell he was doing. All of this came from a sudden rush of adrenaline, one that had not settled down quite yet, leaving him shaky as he sat in the uncomfortable airport chair.

He still wasn’t even sure whether or not he  _ should  _ do this. Lupin had, without a doubt, moved on from Zenigata. It had been a year, and jumping around was just in his  _ nature,  _ he was just. Like that. 

But oh, it was just so  _ tempting.  _ So perfect, so easy. He had been given  _ dates and times,  _ right? He had been provided with all of the information he needed in order to do this damn crazy thing, hadn’t he? So why not just throw caution to the wind? The worst thing that could happen was getting laughed at and mocked by the man he still loved. Would that rip him apart limb from limb, leave him broken for God knows how long? Oh, yes, absolutely. 

But the thing was, it was  _ worth it.  _

_ Lupin was worth it. _

Zenigata glanced up at the screen showing where the planes were and what times they would be arriving and leaving. His had just flown in five minutes ago, and in three hours, he would be on his way to Venice to see the man that he loved.

\---

Planes have always been uncomfortable for Zenigata. He was gangly and tall and his legs stuck out every which way. Not to mention the fact that the armrests were always too damn small, and he was almost  _ always  _ pressed shoulder to shoulder with a complete stranger. 

On a normal day, when a woman with a fairly new looking baby sat next to him, he would feel like he was quite literally going to go crazy, absolutely dreading the inevitable shrieks from it when the plane gained altitude and the pressure made your ears pop. Today, however, he simply smiled at the pair, the woman looking back at him with kind, tired eyes, and the baby gurgling something incomprehensible. Obviously. It was a baby. It couldn’t form coherent sentences even if it tried.

He relaxed in his seat, burying himself in his trenchcoat. He hadn’t exactly meant to put it on as he slipped out of his apartment door, but old habits died hard, and besides, it was comfortable and still smelled faintly like Lupin’s detergent. It was going to be quite a long fourteen hours of flying but, hopefully, he would be able to sleep through most of it (he had slipped himself a little something as he boarded the plane). 

He was finally up in the air, head pressed against the cool glass of the window. The sleeping pill he had taken was finally starting to  _ really  _ kick in, and he felt his eyelids droop heavily as he gazed out at the world from 34,000 feet in the air. 

It was early, early morning, maybe five AM, almost six. The sun wasn’t up yet, though the world was slowly beginning to turn a soft blue as it hid just below the horizon. 

Every building, every road, every stretch of trees and body of water-- all of it--was small enough to fit through the top of a sewing needle. It was strange seeing the world from up above. Strange knowing that, somewhere below him, hundreds of the tiny, ant-sized people were falling in love, excitedly sharing their first kiss, mournfully giving their last. Friends were made and lost, babies were born and people died. Joggers went on their morning rounds, lovers rested between their sheets, safe and warm. People began to slowly wake up, stretching their aching bones, kissing their spouses and children goodbye as they headed off to work. Coffee pots were flipped on, kettles boiled, kids still in school rested peacefully, safely clutched in the weekend’s grasp.

Everybody was waking up, eyes fluttering open, skin still soft and warm and sleepy. Tender touches grazed across flushed cheeks, a good morning kiss was shared between new lovers, between old lovers, between good friends. Somewhere, a mother was affectionately sweeping a lock of hair behind her child’s ear, being careful and quiet as to not wake the sleeping bundle up. 

And yet, here was Zenigata, falling asleep as everybody else did quite the opposite. A strange, secret type of emotion washed over him. Neither good nor bad. It was just there, and it was cold and hot in his chest all at once, and it made him feel heavy. Or maybe that was just the sleeping pills. 

The sun rose slowly above the horizon just as his eyelids grew too heavy and he fell into a deep, unbroken sleep. 

He awoke to the awful sensation of pressure building in his ears, and the baby next to him beginning to fuss and cry. It was probably in pain, too, he thought as his eyelids opened slowly and he began to work his jaw, yawning over and over to try and pop his ears.

“Shh, shh, shh, you hush now angel-- I’m so sorry, the pressure really gets to him-- come on now, baby, it’s okay, it’s okay,” the mother, clearly stressed, bounced the wailing baby in her arms, cooing and whispering to him, trying to calm him down. 

“Does he have a pacifier?” Zenigata asked, and the woman turned to him. She had bags beneath her eyes. “Or a toy to chew on?” 

“I-- yes, yes,” the mother said, awkwardly trying to juggle her baby and her carry-on bag, rummaging through with one hand in search of her baby’s pacifier. 

“Oh, here--” Zenigata held out his hands, offering to take the squirming boy out of her hands. She gratefully passed him over, and by instinct, Zenigata held him close and bounced him gently up and down. 

“I promise, it’s somewhere in here… God, I’m so sorry, I should have read about this before coming onto the flight. It’s just--oh, here it is!--I want to get to my husband’s place, we weren’t able to move together since I was pregnant with him,” she gestured to the baby, which she was holding her arms out for. Zenigata gave the little boy back. “but now that he’s here, I can finally go and live with my husband,” 

Zenigata smiled at her as she gave the fussing baby his pacifier, and he instantly latched onto it, focusing all of his attention on the toy. Almost at once, he quieted down, much calmer now that the pain in his ears was reduced due to the fact that he was able to suck on something and relieve the pressure from the plane’s descendence. 

“Is he your first?” Zenigata asked, and she nodded. 

“I definitely don’t think I was ready to be a mother. But he’s here now, and I’m glad,” 

“I felt the same way,” 

“You have kids?” 

“Mmm. A little girl. She’s ought to be about twenty-two, now,” his smile grew softer, sadder. He hadn’t seen his daughter in years. 

“How sweet! Is she moving with you? Or maybe she lives in Italy already and you’re going to visit,” 

“She actually lives in her mother’s town while she finishes college. I haven’t seen her in a very long time,” he chuckled, and the woman reached out with a small, thin hand and touched his shoulder sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry,” her voice was soft, soothing. He shrugged, smiling at her. 

“No, it’s alright. I’m still able to visit every now and then,” her face seemed to brighten at that. 

“I’m glad. So what brings you to Italy, Mr… ah…” 

“Zenigata, ma’am,” he reached out his hand, and she shook it genially. 

“For conversation’s sake, I’m Amaya. So what brings you to Italy, Mr. Zenigata?” 

“I’m looking for somebody,” 

“Someone in particular?” 

“Yes, yes. He’s very important to me and… well, I let him go about a year ago. I hope he doesn’t hate my guts,” his chuckle was accompanied by a twisting feeling in his gut. Amaya’s warm, sweet smile reached her eyes, which twinkled as she took his hand in hers and _ squeezed.  _

“You’re coming a very long way for him. I’ll bet you anything he’s waiting for you,” 

“I hope you’re right,” 

“I’m sure I am.” 

The two shared a small, knowing smile, something comfortable, as though they had been best friends for years. 

Interactions with strangers were always so odd like that. You knew nothing about them, and yet, the smallest things could pull the two of you into a familiar, cozy conversation. And then, the moment you left, you knew that you would never see one another again. It was almost sad to think about, really, knowing that this real, living, breathing person was right there, and you shared something intimate, something true with them. And then they were just gone forever after that, and there was nothing either of you could really do about it. 

It was strange and bittersweet but so, so very beautiful all the same. So very human. 

When they finally arrived at their destination sometime during midday and the two acquaintances walked out of the plane together, Amaya gave Zenigata a quick peck on the cheek to thank him for knowing how to keep her baby calm as the plane landed, and he wished her the best of luck living with her husband. 

Suddenly, after a few moments of saying their goodbyes, her gaze shifted to a short man with scruffy dark hair and a big, teary grin, and she broke out into a run (or, as much as a run one could do while holding a baby) and threw herself into his arms. Zenigata smiled at the couple as they kissed, crying into each other’s lips. There was a moment where the husband looked like he was asking her something, and she happily pointed a thin finger in Zenigata’s direction. 

The man and Zenigata made eye contact, and for a minute, he was nervous that she had thought he had been flirting with her on the plane, and that her husband was about to come and beat him up. However, the man just smiled and waved. 

Zenigata returned the gesture as he walked away, the grin on his face genuine and warm. 

The rest of his day was spent looking at hotels to stay in until Monday came. He finally found one, small and cheap, and he would stay there ‘til the day came and he could leave to wait around near the location of… whatever Lupin was going to steal. 

What  _ was  _ he stealing? 

Zenigata blinked up at the white ceiling. Huh. In all of his panic, he had totally forgotten about checking to see where he should actually be if he was going to catch the thief. 

He worried at his lower lip, furrowing his brow and thinking back to the hint in the letter. 

1,927 jewels, it had read. Was there a secret treasure to be stolen? Perhaps the inheritance of a very rich, maybe even royal family? A secret stash buried beneath the pavement, hidden right under the noses of government and citizen alike? Oh, dammit, why didn’t he think of this beforehand? 

He absently found the remote at the hotel’s bedside table, flipping the TV on even though he knew that he wouldn’t be able to understand a single word. He spoke no Italian whatsoever, but it would be nice to have background noise as he thought. 

It was the inspector in him, really. Whenever he would spend those late nights trying to decipher where the sneaky little bastard would strike next, he always had the radio playing or television on or a window open. Just to have some white noise to help his thought process. 

He laid back on his bed, folding his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes. 1,927 jewels. Were they the same jewel? Perhaps it was a collection of one singular precious stone instead of a variety as Zenigata had initially thought. However, not a single artifact of importance came to mind that held that many of the same jewels, and it was  _ highly  _ unlikely that Lupin was going to pull a heist on something that wasn’t famous and locked up in a museum or otherwise. 

Taking that in mind, he tried to run through all of the treasures in Venice, though the only things that came to mind were paintings. Grand, beautiful expensive paintings, that seemed far too big to ever steal, even for Lupin. 

As he continued to stay deep in thought, he didn’t even notice what was going on in the television until his ears perked up on instinct when he heard something that sounded like the thief’s name _.  _

He sat up, gluing his eyes to the screen, and sure enough, there he was. Grinning stupidly, eyes sparkling, tossing the camera a little wave and a cheeky, playful wink. The reporter spoke in rapid-fire Italian and the only word that Zenigata could understand was “Lupin.” 

So, he had already sent his calling card. But where? To what? 

The screen switched views from a woman behind a desk gesturing to the photo of the thief to a tall, young man, with a microphone pointed to his mouth. He had a familiar uniform and stood proudly with his hands folded behind his back. His bushy eyebrows were knit tight together, and his mouth was a stern, thin frown. 

“This Lupin character-- I was put on his case just recently, but he’s already been one of the biggest challenged I’ve ever faced,” he said, and a translator relayed his words to the camera in Italian.

Ah. So that was Zenigata’s replacement. 

“This strange man just sent a-- what do they call them? He sent some sort of calling card to me last week, saying he was going to steal the Pala D’oro. Which I’m honestly not sure how the hell he’ll manage to pull off, that thing’s humongous,” 

Zenigata slapped his hand to his forehead. Of  _ course!  _ Oh, Lupin, he thought with a wild grin. Always one to make such a scene. 

“Lupin says he’ll strike at midnight on Monday-- so technically Tuesday, I guess-- but none of us are going to trust him and take that risk. He’s obviously the type to play games-- in fact, just last night, he popped in to  _ visit me  _ in my hotel! He stood out on the balcony and asked if I knew what had happened to somebody named Koichi Zenigata,” 

Zenigata’s jaw  _ dropped  _ at the mention of his name, and his cheeks flushed a hot red. The translator next to his replacement was speaking fast, using her hands as she talked. 

“I’m pretty sure that was the guy before me. I’m not surprised he quit, to be honest; I’ve only talked with that monkey-faced freak for a few hours, and he’s already been too overwhelming,” 

At this, Zenigata laughed aloud. Yeah, that was his Lupin alright. Monkey-faced and overwhelming. He smiled softly, butterflies flitting about in his stomach at the affirmation that Lupin still cared, Lupin still thought about him, Lupin still  _ wanted to see him.  _

His determination to see the thief was absolutely unparallelled, now, and nothing could stop him. There wasn’t a single force on earth that could ever even  _ begin  _ to slow him, because  _ Lupin missed him, too.  _ The flirtatious, gregarious, loud Arsène Lupin the Third, missed anxious, silly old Koichi Zenigata. Asked for him. It had been a fucking  _ year.  _ Determined, wasn’t he? Or maybe just cocky. Either way, it worked in the ex inspector’s favor. 

The wait for Monday was… insufferable, to say the least. It was only two days away but it seemed like months with how anxious he was. 

On Sunday morning, he sat on his bed in front of the TV, full attention focused directly at the news channel that he couldn’t fully understand. Every word from the reporter’s mouth was completely incomprehensible to him except for  _ Lupin _ . Clearly, they were beginning to panic about losing their beloved Pala D’oro, having already sent several Italian police officers to guard the altar. 

The thought of waiting around and just letting somebody steal such an important artifact was… strange, to say the least. It made Zenigata uncomfortable, an odd, guilty pit deep in his stomach that whispered to him that he should  _ stop this,  _ that he needs to arrest Lupin, that he would be fired if he let this carry on the way that he was.

Even when he was gazing at his replacement on the screen, his bright blue eyes looking icy and stern and completely opposite to the older man’s, he worried about getting in trouble with the commissioner for doing nothing. 

It was just a thought that loomed in the back of his mind, something that stood in the foreground and made every one of his actions feel wrong, illegal, even. Technically, he was no longer qualified to interfere with crime scenes; he had turned in his badge. It was over. It was his decision to end things, his decision to allow the thief to take what he wanted. 

And for what? A kiss? Maybe not even that? Was he really just going to throw away everything he stood for all to get a mere passing glance from the person he had dedicated his  _ entire life to?  _ This thought gnawed at his brain as he went to bed Sunday night, as he woke up on Monday morning, tangled in thin hotel sheets, as he skipped breakfast to watch the news on the Pala D’oro, as he took a hot bath to try and soothe his nerves, even as he sat on the bed in boxers and an undershirt, hair still damp, listening to Inspector Willis (his replacement) discuss his plans with the camera. 

“From previous reports, we can tell that Lupin isn’t a dangerous man, but is definitely not afraid to make a mess,” 

Zenigata snorted. Yeah, that was for sure. 

“However,” Willis continued, looking stern. “my orders are still to shoot the moment he comes within range. We have snipers, army men-- Lupin the Third will fail at his very last heist. Our goal is not to kill him, but if it comes to that, well, I’m afraid it cannot be helped.” And with that, the screen flicked back to reporter woman behind the desk, and she began to talk, making several gestures with her hands, nodding her head this way and that. Another picture of Lupin was pulled up to the upper righthand corner of the TV. 

Just like that, the realization that Zenigata no longer cared whether or not Lupin stole the Pala D’oro hit him hard. As it turns out, he  _ did  _ quit his job just for a mere kiss or a simple glance. 

The thief was not only harmless, but he  _ helped  _ people. Helped Interpol from time to time, even helped Zenigata, who used to despise him. And here was this high brow police inspector who was new to the case and trying to have Lupin  _ killed,  _ no trace of empathy in his cold, cold eyes. Didn’t he realize that Lupin was a human being? Living and breathing, just like him? Had a heart and a brain and a stomach? Lungs and arteries and delicate, blown glass capillaries? 

His decision was made. Sure, it went against his first instinct, but Zenigata was willing to make that change in his life just to see his beloved one last time. He thought back to the letter, thought back to the softness in Lupin’s words, in the way he described Zenigata’s eyelashes fluttering while he slept next to the thief. Thought about how that wasn’t his first try, how there were several other, failed letters that Lupin decided weren’t good enough (Zenigata didn’t care if they were good or not; anything the thief wrote would turn out like scripture, thick and raw and beautiful, and he would cherish it as though it was produced from the breath of a diety of sorts), how he  _ promised  _ to one day kiss Zenigata again. How, even after a year had passed, the thief was still asking for him, still teasing Interpol about the whereabouts of  _ his  _ inspector, still sending notes separate to his calling cards to the commissioner, who had revealed this fact earlier on television after the new inspector finished yet another speech about how if Lupin was killed, he was killed, and that was that.

The hours crept by painfully slowly, but eventually, the sun sank behind the horizon, making way for the moon, glowing soft and subtle in the velveteen sky. Anxiety rose in Zenigata as he finished readying himself to go on a little hunt for Lupin, one that involved no quips or snide comments or handcuffs. No yelling, no cursing, no insulting. He just wanted to find him. 

He slipped into his trenchcoat, placing his hat atop his head simply because it was routine for him. It felt like an odd ritual, and he wasn’t quite out of his habit yet. With a shaky breath, he stepped out of his hotel room, closing it softly shut, and mentally prepared for what the  _ hell  _ he was getting himself into. 

He was scared, sure, but if he was being honest, he was mostly excited. Mostly nervous and thrilled about seeing the very person that had been running through his mind nonstop for a full year. He walked a little quicker, stood a little straighter, adrenaline rushing through his veins. What time was it now? Eleven PM, according to his watch. 

Only an hour left. 

He quickened, skipping the elevator entirely to try and hopefully get out some of his jitters by taking the stairs, hand sliding along the banister the entire time, heart pounding away inside of his chest.

He was going to see Lupin. And Lupin was going to see him. And they would come closer, maybe, exchange pleasantries--“how are you? Good? Yes, yes, me too, thanks.” Maybe inch a little closer. Shake hands, laugh about the circumstances. Zenigata would say he quit his job, Lupin would make fun of him. Then, the older man would take the thief’s cheek in his palm, and he would tell him  _ everything  _ that he felt, everything that he’s wanted to say all twelve fucking months of being apart. That he couldn’t stop thinking of Lupin, that not a single day went by when their separation didn’t hurt. 

And then they would kiss-- Zenigata taking the lead, of course. Because he was  _ absolutely  _ that type of fellow. And Lupin would kiss him back and there might be tears but that’s okay because Zenigata was a crybaby anyway (no matter how often he denied it). 

He flew out the swinging, glass doors of the hotel lobby, stumbling into the street. A few pedestrians raised their eyebrows at him, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment but he didn’t stop. He had places to be. 

The Pala D’oro was located at St. Mark’s Basilica, where it had originally been built all the way back in 976, and officially finished in 1209. It was two meters tall and three meters wide, and, of course, seeing as it was made from pure gold and precious stones, it would be quite heavy. How Lupin was going to manage to pull off something like this was just  _ beyond  _ Zenigata. However, he didn’t doubt the thief’s abilities whatsoever-- he had stolen much heavier, much bigger artifacts. Things that the ex inspector didn’t even know  _ could  _ be stolen. 

Nothing was impossible for Lupin the Third. He kept that in mind as he kept running full speed ahead towards the basilica. He wasn’t entirely sure when he had even started running.

The sudden sound of alarms pierced the night and wails from police cars zipping by spilled from every corner of every street. Frantic officers were swarming, gushing from cop cars and police stations. Shops closed down, people fled the streets, and a shower of gunshots could be heard loud and clear. 

There was shouting--frightened, angry, demanding. Footsteps thundered throughout the street and a barricade of armored tanks surrounded the basilica. 

Zenigata watched as all of this happened from about a block away, wanting to steer clear of the violence in case he was hit with another bullet and had to repeat everything that had happened to him at the cottage. Perhaps, though, with that logic, he should run directly into open fire and get absolutely riddled with lead if it meant getting nursed back to health by Lupin. He chuckled at the thought as he wrung his hands, anxiously awaiting a signal, a sign, anything at  _ all  _ that indicated Lupin had succeeded. 

It was strange how much he had changed. Strange how much a single person could make Zenigata want to leave behind an entire profession, strange how much a single person could make him feel so  _ much,  _ strange how much a single person could both tear him apart and improve his life tremendously. All of it was strange. Nothing was normal about it. 

But maybe that’s why it was so good. Maybe that’s why Zenigata was willing to wait as chaos unfolded before him and gunshots filled his ears with awful memories of his  _ own  _ wound, which still sat, scarred over and completely healed, on his abdomen. 

Suddenly, without warning, a helicopter burst free from the hectic scene. Several long, thick cords were connected to it, and Zenigata followed them with his eyes down… down… down… until...

His heart stopped for a moment. 

There, attached to the very end of the cord, all wrapped up and secured tightly, was the Pala D’oro. It was gorgeous, glistening in the light of the moon, the gold smoother than silk as it reflected the moonlight with elegance and grace that could only be described as ethereal. He could see the gems glistening and sparkling through the dark-- emeralds and amethysts, pearls, sapphires, rubies. There were topazes and jaspers, agates and carnelians and garnets. They were lustrous and shimmering, delicately breathtaking as the helicopter swept them away.

For a moment, Zenigata was too starstruck to move, and then he remembered. He remembered why he quit being a police officer, why he had trouble sleeping at night, why he had come on this journey to Venice. 

Frantically, he scrambled after the helicopter, trying his best not to look too conspicuous as he did so, hoping that he would be ignored by the Italian police officers who were scrabbling to get into their cars and their tanks and bolt after the helicopter carrying the priceless artifact. Their efforts were, however, very much in vain; the flying vehicle was much too fast, and Zenigata recognized the silhouette that popped out of one of the sides and began to shoot with startling accuracy at the oncoming officers. Tires popped, engines broke down, tanks malfunctioned completely and began to rumble ominously as several of the officers desperately tried to escape the situation. Screaming could be heard from every direction, orders were being howled from deep voices and loud, angry cursing ripped from fuming men holding guns.

None of that mattered to Zenigata, though. What  _ did  _ matter was trying to get this damn helicopter’s attention, something that he knew would be impossible. He had no gun, nothing bright to illuminate himself with, nothing to stand out against the crowd. 

He ran, legs pumping, heart hammering in his chest, body feeling weak and achy. He wasn’t going to lose the thief a second time-- he just  _ couldn’t.  _ He couldn’t take it anymore, he missed him too fiercely. He had given in to the longing, to the aching. To the pain he felt every time he reminded himself that this was  _ his  _ fault, that he and Lupin could no longer see each other because of  _ him.  _ Even if that wasn’t entirely true, there was still some part of it that Zenigata knew he was right about, and it hurt to think of. It was all just too much to bear, too much to live with. So he ran. He ran and ran and ran, following the helicopter, hoping to God at least one of them would see him. That they would send someone down to investigate, and he could ask them to see Lupin. He needed to see Lupin. 

When Zenigata skidded to a halt at the edge of a pier, very nearly falling directly into the cold, lapping waters below, his heart dropped out of his body through his stomach and lay in a bloody, pulsing heap at his feet.

Yes, he had more time to see Lupin. Yes, there were plenty more opportunities, and yes, he probably would, eventually, see the thief again. It was simply written in the stars. 

But it was still heartbreaking. It was still enough to make Zenigata stare out at the Adriatic sea, the beautiful moon, fat and round, assisting the tides as they ebbed and flowed. For a moment, the sirens, the shouting, all of the negative noises from the policemen simply faded into the background. There was only the soft sloshing of water against the pier’s legs, the distant call of a bird somewhere very far away. Boats of nighttime fishers bobbed up and down along the horizon, occasionally letting out a blaring horn to signify the others of their existence, or maybe, to simply say hello. Zenigata closed his eyes. 

The water, the bird, the boats. The gentle, salty breeze that blew in from the sea, the light mist against hist face that dampened his cheeks and clothes, warm and wet on his skin. The slivers of moonlight that he could see beneath his eyelids. The quiet, soft,  _ tap tap tap  _ of footsteps, cautious and slow. The whisper of the night sky, the sound of the sea.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap.  _

The sound was closer, louder. Clearer. 

Footsteps. 

Footsteps? 

Suddenly, static. Feedback from a walkie-talkie and the rough voice of none other than Jigen cut coarsely against the night. 

“Lupin,” he said, the walkie-talkie making him sound fuzzy and far off. “Lupin come  _ on  _ just give it up already. It’s been a year. He  _ isn’t coming--  _ over, _ ”  _

Zenigata turned, his eyes wide, heart pounding, entire body trembling. 

“Jigen,” someone said calmly into the walkie-talkie, eyes glimmering. “I’ll talk to you later. Over,” 

“No, you idiot, you need to get on the water now! It’s still goin’ hot and heavy over there and--” 

“Jigen.” Lupin cut him off. The smile on his face could be heard in his voice. “You go on ahead. Don’t worry about me. Over and out.” 

And with that, he simply flipped the device off, slipping it into his jacket, taking a step forward. 

He stood a good distance away from the stunned Zenigata and was much, much calmer than the latter. Leaning on one leg, his hip stuck out casually, hands buried in his pants pockets. His head was cocked playfully to one side, his lopsided grin sweet and warm and easy on his face. His eyes were kind, familiar, comforting. They reminded the ex inspector of the word  _ home.  _

“You found me,” Lupin finally spoke, and when the words fell from his gorgeous, lips, they were like memories of kissing, of rolling in the sweet, green grass, of cooking, of slow dancing cheek-to-cheek. 

“I always do,” Zenigata replied after a moment of just  _ staring,  _ trying to soak up every single detail about the thief as though he were about to disappear. 

“I guess so.” 

They fell into a silence, and the ex inspector didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do, how to look, where to even begin. Everything he thought he would do-- the holding, the kissing, the cocky attitude-- it completely shattered and blew away in the light breeze. All he could do was stare. And Lupin stared right back. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally blurted, his voice barely above a whisper as it cracked in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was gone for so  _ long…”  _

“Pops, hey, it’s okay--” Lupin blinked, straightening his back and holding his hands up to try and soothe Zenigata. To no avail. 

“No, no, no, Lupin, it isn’t! I just… disappeared without warning you, and didn’t come looking for you until a year later. A  _ whole year.  _ And yet you’ve waited for me? You’ve stayed behind as the others escaped with the goods just to  _ wait for me?  _ You’re either stupid or out of your mind,” 

“Oh, you know I’m both,” 

“I’m serious, Lupin, why would you just do something so naive? What if I never came back?”

“But you did! And you’re standing right here. And I’m also standing right here,” 

“But if I  _ hadn’t.  _ Think about it! You weren’t  _ really  _ going to go through ten years of heists just standing around for me to come back after your pals left with whatever you just stole, were you? Please, God, Lupin, tell me you weren’t,” 

“No, no, I was,” he chuckled sweetly. Tears clung to Zenigata’s eyes. 

“You’re so stupid,” he choked, his voice breaking. “you’re so stupid…”

“Way to rub it in,”

“Lupin,  _ why would you ever wait for somebody like me?”  _ He whimpered, raising his voice only slightly. Lupin’s eyes widened, and he took a step closer. Closer, closer, closer, until Zenigata could see that tiny little scar on his nose that he so deeply adored. 

“Zenigata, I promised you I would in that letter. I don’t go back on promises-- surely you know that by now?” 

“But I left you! I was so selfish and so disgustingly sad that I dropped your case entirely the very moment I got back from Provence! I tried to forget about you for a whole year, and then there you were, waiting for me! Waiting for a horrible, horrible bastard who just  _ left you!  _ Lupin, aren’t you mad at me? Don’t you hate me?”

“Enough,” his voice was very soft. His hands were very close. 

“Aren’t you at least  _ angry?  _ Of course, I don’t want you to be, but you deserve to be upset with me! I wasn’t thinking of anybody but myself when I completely gave your case away to some bozo. What kind of name is fucking-- what kind of name is  _ Willis?”  _

“Pops, stop being so hard on yourself. I’m not angry. Quit that,” he shuffled closer, but Zenigata didn’t notice. Didn’t notice the warmth of Lupin’s body as it practically pressed against his own. Didn’t notice the way those slender fingers were slowly reaching up, reaching out for his flushed, tear-stained cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t come sooner, I should have. It was so selfish of me to wait, to leave you hanging like that, to just  _ abandon you,  _ oh God, Lupin, I’m so sorr--” 

He never did manage to finish that last “sorry.”

Lupin’s lips were just as sweet, just as soft, just as warm as they had been a year ago. They pressed firmly to Zenigata’s, stealing away all of the older man’s breath, rendering him limp and boneless as he melted completely into the kiss. 

Tears mixed in with their lips, and whether they were from Lupin or Zenigata, neither of them could tell any longer. 

They pulled back slowly, lingering until the very last breath, eyes closed until the very last moment. 

The thief’s eyes were welled with tears that spilled out over his cheeks and fell in fat, heavy droplets to the already damp wood of the pier. His hands had moved from Zenigata’s cheeks to wrap around his neck, and the ex inspector had found that his own palms were now firmly placed on Lupin’s hips. 

“It was my decision to wait. I said I would, so I did,” he said simply, leaning in once more to press simple, slow, tender kisses to Zenigata’s face. To his nose, his jaw, the apples of his cheek, the soft skin below his eyes. 

“But why?” Zenigata whispered through trembling lips, his arms snaking around the thief’s body to pull him closer, hold him tighter. 

“Because that’s what you do when you’re in love.” 

With that, his lips found Zenigata’s once again, and this time, the older man was prepared. He tilted his head, closing his eyes, drinking up every part of Lupin, squeezing him tightly. He murmured affirmations into the thief’s lips, traced the length of his spine with a shaky index finger, held him so close and so tight that it seemed as though the two would simply melt into one another right then and there on the pier. 

\---

“Miss me?” 

“JESUS FUCK--!” Zenigata fumbled and dropped the mug of coffee he was carrying, eyes blown wide. The coffee splattered all across his beloved rug that sat in his apartment, the glass shattering as it had hit the hardwood floor. 

“Aw, poor clumsy little thing,” Lupin cooed from where he sat on the sweet pea-green couch, his legs kicked up onto the coffee table. It was late in the afternoon, and golden sunlight spilled from the windows, drowning the living room in honey. Lupin stood, stretching his back as he did so (he acted as if he had been on that damned couch for a  _ while,  _ the smarmy little monkey-faced asshole) _.  _ “I’ll help, don’t you worry,” 

“I should make you clean it up on your own, you were the one that scared the pants off of me!” Zenigata retorted, still a little shaken. 

“Man, I sure hope so,” Lupin called from the kitchen, where he was gathering a few cleaning supplies from beneath the sink. Zenigata’s cheeks flushed red, and he looked away shyly as he stooped over to pick up the fat chunks of the ceramic cup. Thankfully, there were no shards, so he was safe from getting minuscule bits stuck in his fingers and slicing him up. Lupin came over leaning down to place a wet towel containing a dish soap, water, and white vinegar mixture that was supposed to help get the stain out. He smiled sweetly at the larger man next to him, pecking him quickly on the cheek before going back to the couch. 

“Been a while, hm?” Zenigata asked as he shuffled to the kitchen to dispose of his broken mug. He ran cold water over his hands, wiping them off on a dishtowel before going to join his boyfriend on his favorite ugly couch. 

“A week or so isn’t a while,” 

“Only a week? It felt like a month,” he groaned, sinking down into the cushions next to Lupin, who scooted closer. 

“So you  _ did  _ miss me!” The thief crowed, leaning in to kiss that one spot on Zenigata’s neck that always made him get goosebumps. 

“I always do,” he simpered, following Lupin as he leaned against the armrest on the couch. He slipped between the thief’s legs, laying his head on his chest as Lupin’s thin arms came to hug his neck. Slow, easy kisses were pressed to Zenigata’s brow. 

“Softie,” Lupin murmured, kissing the shell of his ear, the top of his head. He reached down and picked up Zenigata’s hand, kissing every one of his knuckles, the pads of his fingers, the soft underside of his wrist. 

“If I am, it’s because you make me one,” the ex inspector replied, never afraid to be silly and sweet and sappy with Lupin. 

It had been several months, now, since Lupin kissed him on the pier, since that awful year of pining and loneliness ended, since the disappearance of the Pala D’oro (which was, of course, stolen by Fujiko only two days after Lupin had managed to nab it. She was currently living the good life in Greece.) 

The two were, of course, not at all your conventional couple. They only saw each other once or twice every week or so, sometimes even having to wait as long as once a month. They knew that it was dangerous. If the commissioner ever saw that Zenigata had started getting cozy with a world-famous thief  _ immediately  _ after quitting, he would be on the poor man’s ass faster than Zenigata could even open his mouth to defend himself. 

(He definitely couldn’t defend himself. This was  _ exactly  _ what it looked like. But maybe he could lie.)

Despite the fact that they were often separated, neither of them cared. None of the waiting and the distance and the tears seemed to matter when they were sharing moments such as this one. 

“I guess I am, too,” Lupin murmured into his skin, smiling shyly. “I like it, though,” 

“What? You? The big tough thief?” Zenigata laughed, turning his head to nuzzle his nose in the crook of Lupin’s neck. 

“Stop teasing me!” 

“Didn’t make you blush, did I?” 

“I swear I’ll leave again,” 

The thief’s threat was followed by warm, comfortable laughter from the ex inspector, sweet and soft in Zenigata’s chest as his boyfriend held him tighter. Lupin hummed gently, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

The sun sunk lower into the sky, that warm golden light eventually giving in to the subtle glow of the moon. Inside of that dingy little apartment, the two lovers sat in one another’s arms, simply talking and kissing and laughing, safe and sound atop the sweet pea-green couch as, in the kitchen, a light breeze fluttered the thin, white lace curtains. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i'll miss writing this stupid shit, i really hope you guys had as much fun reading it as i did writing it ;; thank u for ur constant sweet comments and endless support, on god ur all so wonderful it's insane!! i did Not think that anybody would read this thing njrkngkrgrd 
> 
> anyway until next time i guess!! muah


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